Hearts and Bones
by ameliapemerson
Summary: Hearts and Bones-where a lonely soldier and a disillusioned woman meet in Paris. A night becomes weeks of passion. The consequences unforeseen.
1. Ch 1: étrangers se rencontrent

_Why do these things come into my brain?... and won't let go? Blame it on my reluctance to let go of my OTP…. So I write hot fan fic…lol_

The arc of a love affair  
His hands rolling down her hair  
Love like lightning shaking till it moans

 **June 1919**

The wall was cold against her skin as she was pushed against the peeling wallpaper. He pitched arms above her head. His muscles lean and elegant. Grabbed hands tight and squeezed until she groaned from her mouth just as he demanded. Her breasts thrust out in front of her. He grunted, his eyes hungry for her. He bent down and took each breast into his mouth. His lips encircled her peaked nipples. Nibbling, nipping, his tongue flicking and his lips sucking until his actions sent her into an intoxicated ecstasy.

He let go. She crooked her face into his neck and pressed her teeth into his skin. Making him moan even louder than before. Possessive bite marks formed by her, marking him as hers.

His head moved so that their eyes locked. She was everything he never knew he was looking for in a woman. Yet he did not even know her name.

"Take me" she said, the huskiness of her breath raw from previous claims on his body. But she still demanded more. Afraid he'd stop. "Take all of me."

And she threw him down onto the bed. Crawled and climbed over him as a lioness ascended a tree. Lithe and fully aware of the slenderness of his torso. A perfect V shape down to his groin.

She touched him. His eyes opened. Looked at her with a deliciously open stare.

She was reckless. Impetuous. A liberating activity, one she never indulged in. In this moment. For whatever this moment, this passion brought.

They had been at it for hours.

No identity to get in the way.

Just bodies.

Entwined. Encased. Protected from the outside world.

His tunic tossed aside lay embracing her lace chemise on the floor. His boots, muddy and worn, thrown in a corner. Her heels abandoned on either side of the bed, each lost to the other companion shoe. He had thrown them over his shoulder upon slipping them off her feet as his fingers slid up her slim legs and tore at her under garments. He felt around until she gasped as his touch met the spot.

He had been footloose in Paris in the months following the war. Waiting demobilization. Reluctant to go home to his recluse father and binge in mutual loneliness and despair. That had not appealed. He had lost his mother in a freak bomb blast in Paris while she worked for the Red Cross. Ever the storm braver to the end. His father had yet to recover.

So he stayed in Paris. He wore his uniform as he was a couple weeks away from freedom.

Meeting his military obligations as a researcher/translator to the British peace conference delegation, he also wrote the words to the novel he had dreamed up in his mind's eye while damp and mud-soaked in the trenches. Had a couple of short stories published in French for _Les Annales_ and film reviews for _Le Film Complet_ just to make ends meet. He even wrote some rude fiction for some of the more Bohemian publications.

It was coming in handy here. Her fingers were long. Strong. Stretched out and stroking him just as he needed. Firm pumps making his skin sweat and his mouth dry from the panting. The craving. The need to have her touch all night.

To make the thoughts take flight. To be only in the moment. For the past was another country. One he'd rather see the horizon of as he left it on a voyage to oblivion.

They had bumped into each other on a Parisian street. He had been looking down. He had written an address of a publisher down on the palm of his hand. When he looked up it had been too late.

" _Excuse_." He mumbled.

Then he looked up.

She was a vision in blue. A wrap around her shoulders it had turned out to be. A hat with sequins and a couple of feathers. A dress that played with fabrics and textures as if to rebel finally against the uniform drabness of the war years. The hemline rose just below her knee giving him a glimpse of a slender ankle and silk stocking.

Open jawed, he had fumbled around and finally tipped his cap. " _Excusez-moi, est-ce que je peux passer, s'il vous plaît_?" Not really knowing what else to say. He had no money, no job. No way to even have the right to talk to this woman. This beauty.

" _Naturellement_." She responded. But she did not push past him. Instead she look a bit bewildered.

He risked it anyway. " _Voulez-vous du café_?" He could not let her go away and never speak again.

" _J'adorerais_." She said, also pausing in the street even though she was in a desperate hurry. This man. His eyes, clearly in pain yet exquisitely blue, bore into hers as if he could see right into her soul. She stumbled but managed " _Bien que je sois à court de temps_."

He knew immediately she was English. Not because her French was not perfect. But the way one ex-pat knew another.

"It won't take very long. You do look famished, if I may be so bold." He took the cap off and scratched his skull. The thing always made his scalp itch.

She could not leave not now. One blonde lock fell down across his forehead as he rubbed. She took a gloved hand and moved it back into place.

"You're English?" she said, settling the confusion she felt at a Frenchman in an English regiment.

"As are you." He smiled.

"How did you know?" She had always prided herself on well accented French. Years of governesses and finishing schools had seen to that.

"It's all in the body language. We English think we can hide ourselves in a foreign land. But actually we stick out like thumbs."

Her laugh radiated as an English rose. Something both painful and arousing. As was her touch, encased though it was in a leather glove. He knew she felt it too.

It had been a while for the both of them it turned out. The café merely an excuse to take her back to his hotel.

He had ordered coffee. She said she'd pour. " _Mieux vaut être seuls_." Said with a sly smirk, she waved the waitress away from their table.

" _Absolument_!" His voice low, pitched for her ears alone. " _Je ne veux rien de plus qu'être seul avec vous_."

She had leaned across the table to retrieve some sugar. Allowing him a glimpse of décolletage. Their eyes met. He motioned with his hand to the stairs. She imperceptibly nodded and followed him.

His room was small. Spare. But adequate to the task. The bed was in the corner of the room. Light flooded in from outside.

She closed the door behind her.

He turned. She moved to take him.

Her nimble fingers unbuttoned his tunic with rapid functionality. He caught his breath.

"I was trained to help recuperative soldiers during the war." She explained. "It's become habit."

"I approve." He sucked some air as her hands reached the buttons on his khaki trousers. His own hands then went to work taking off her shoes, moving his hands up her intoxicating thighs and spreading her legs until he worked his way through her under garments to her most erogenous spot.

Her moan and collapse into his arms meant he had found it. His feather like touches worked into a slow grinding motion making her more aware of her body than it had been in years.

Within seconds of being in this room with him, she knew him. She knew him and trusted him.

Her life had taken such a twist she hardly knew it anymore. Having lived most of the war in a marriage of her own creation, she had regretted her rash action. Her husband, cold and demanding, had been a youthful rebellion against her father's wishes.

She had never fully trusted him. Her husband's idea of sex had been for his pleasure alone. She was merely a tool. A means to an end. And once he had relieved his immediate urge, he turned away from her and fell asleep. Leaving her cold. Naked and alone. And once it was clear she was unable to provide him with children, his roaming eyes began to take in fresh prey.

Well she had gotten out of that. He had committed adultery with a woman in Edinburgh. Once found out, the divorce was inevitable.

Free, she decided to join her mother in Paris for a trip to the _House of Patou_ to see the new post-war designs. Liberated in all senses of the word had been intoxicating.

But one thing her marriage had taught her, much to her chagrin, was that she had a strong sexual drive. A need left unsatiated for far too long.

Until now.

Until this man. And this time.

She went to his room, knowing what he wanted. Wanting it herself. Maybe a dirty week end away was just the ticket to forget her life before.

Her grunts of approval at his touch was only the beginning. He tasted her skin. He dragged and tore the garments free from her body. Kissed and ran his tongue along each of her thighs in turn as she looked on with approval.

She trembled. He grinned for the first time.

Once free of her garments, she straddled her leg over his left side. His own clothes had been lain aside. His body, though scarred from the war and pale, was fit and tight. She could see his elongated member throbbing and expanding in size before her eyes. She reached out and touched its length. Her fingers shook but it was a practiced hand that took him. She gripped lightly at first, then as it twitched and pulsed in her grasp she tightened her fingers and stroked.

His body heaved and jerked in time to the sensations pulsating his body.

She licked her lips deliciously, seductively. "What are you waiting for?" And reached out and maneuvered her hips to take all of him inside her.

She gave him every excuse to indulge his need. A need, hungry and deep that she could see in those sad eyes.

Hungry. Shuddering. Helpless. He pounded and beat abandoned to any other sensation inside her. He contorted his body to better meet her own mounting expectations. Her intense stare of concentration as she drove him on by hitching her body higher to meet his. Her fingers slid around and took command of his rounded, firm rear end. Fingernails driving and kneading into his soft skin. She tightened her pelvic muscles around him. The constricted sensation engorged him further. The built up pressure making the sensations that much more desirable.

He quickened his motion. Driving now towards a climax. Insane, intense explosions of pleasure wracked his body. He took a moment to look down on her. Her eyes closed, a pulsing, rippling motion of her body meant that she too felt it. The vibrations of his erection deep inside her, driving her to sensations she had though long ago escaped her life.

Now they had all been fulfilled. The surge of her peaks making her warm and wet and alive. She felt a voracious need to take him again and again.

He lay down, spent in all meanings of the word. The sweat of his brow. The deep heaving of his breath. His hair tousled and unkempt. His mind vacant while his tactile sensations were like painful pinpricks all over his body.

She was numb from the pleasure. Yet wanting more. In complete control, yet giving herself completely to another. She had behaved in the most indecent of ways. Wanton. Unladylike.

They turned to face each other in the rumpled bed sheets. Eyes meeting eyes in total awareness of their actions.

He never felt more vulnerable to a woman's touch. His own wife was dead. He felt no guilt.

She had never had such intense desires. She felt no shame.

They had not even kissed.

XX  
 **One month later**

Lady Mary Crawley took a seat on the divan in the library next to her mother.

"Your father has some kind of announcement to make." Cora told her. They had both been summoned as if on command by Lord Grantham.

Mary had returned from a month's holiday to Paris. And the countryside of France, left unscarred by war. Her mother had wondered why her daughter had insisted that a longer visit to the French capital was necessary, but she was her own woman—divorced and childless- and could make her own decisions. She no longer needed or wanted any chaperoning.

Although Cora probed, Mary remained mum on her activities, saying merely she had taken in the sites and relaxed. It had done her a world of good. And now she was ready to get on with her life.

"You make it sound quite scandalous, you know." Her mother had insinuated. "Staying alone at a hotel in Paris. Anything could have happened."

Mary merely flicked an insouciant eyebrow in her mama's direction but said nothing. She shifted her body around the seat. She was sore from her excursion to Paris. Sore in the most pleasurable of ways.

Cora had no idea how close to the truth she had gotten.

"Now that we are all assembled," Robert looked around. Sybil was in Ireland with her husband so she was absent. Edith was present, although editing a journal article in her hand even as she looked up to give her father some attention.

"Just get on with it Papa," Mary encouraged.

"After Patrick died at Amiens, the inheritance was thrown open. Well Murray has found the new heir. And he's arriving today. Within a few minutes as I had word with the train station on the telephone and sent Parsons with the car to fetch him." Robert turned specifically to Mary. "Be nice to him will you. Unlike Patrick you might actually accept a proposal this time so we can secure the line."

Mary looked stunned. Even after all this time her father still only thought of her as a piece of property to be given to the man next to her at dinner. Especially if he was to inherit the title and the estate. And the money that she still believed to be hers. The entail had been the bane of her existence all her life. The money tied up with everything else. Her father unwilling to short shrift any heir by demanding a private bill in parliament.

So the man got everything. And she was just supposed to bat her eyelashes and allow him to choose her as his wife.

Well hell would freeze over first, Mary determined.

"Here he is now." Robert clapped his hands together in anticipation. Carson brought the young man into the library.

"Matthew Crawley, my lord." The butler intoned, looking slightly disapproving at the younger man's threadbare suit. His bowler hat had seen better days as well.

Robert came over. "Hello. Welcome to Downton. Here's the family."

And Matthew moved aside so he could better see the women on the divan. One staring back at him with the same wild eyed look that took over his own. She shifted uneasily in her seat.

"We met in London two days ago." Robert explained to his wife and assembled daughters. "But you've not had the chance to be properly introduced."

Oh that's for bloody sure, Matthew thought as he swallowed and licked his lips in nervous action. He knew the woman on the sofa. Knew her intimately. Knew every nook, every cranny of her body. His tongue had tasted her. His body given to her.

He knew all of her. Her body. Her thoughts. Even some of her history.

He knew her...

Except who she was.

Her father prattling on only making things worse. "Perhaps it would be a good thing for you two to get to know one another better. This is my daughter…."

The woman whose skin he marked with his bruises, matching the fingernail scratches along his own back. Her name was Lady Mary Crawley.

And she was now casting daggers into his soul.

Matthew could only splutter out a barely coherent response. "Right." His voice squeaked it out. He shifted his collar with his fingers. My God, he thought, he had taken possession of this woman time and time again, not five days previous, now she made him weak at the knees staring at him as if suddenly he was the enemy.

He had no idea what he had done wrong.

"Papa," Mary dryly observed, cold and unmistakable. "I very much doubt Mr. Crawley and I will be friends. He is taking my fortune while you are giving him a title. Isn't that enough."

And with that she got up, sauntered towards him, and dismissed his pleading eyes with an icy, brittle heartless stare.

And quit the room.

XX

… _so…should I continue this?_


	2. Ch 2: La Vie en Rose

**Paris: June 1919**

XX

Her hand made lazy circles around his nipples. Goose bumps forming along his torso. Hair standing on end. An easy, deep chuckle from the depths of his larynx. Fingernails moving, sliding down his chest towards his groin. Tracing and shaping his vault shape on either side of his abdomen.

He moved closer. She felt him tremble.

"You're ticklish." Said in his ear, making his skin flush.

"I'm happy." He said, moving his eyes to meet hers.

"Is that a good thing?" And she could see it was true. The sad eyes of yesterday had been replaced by a jovial twinkle.

"I don't know." He mused. It's different for sure. As my mum said, 'laughing always turns to crying.'"

"But you're willing to risk being happy?" She wasn't so sure she was.

"For now." He licked his lips and looked away then back at her. "For you."

Her smile wicked. "You're only saying that because I let you take me three times today."

"Shameless." He snuggled closer, kissed her deep, then got serious. "I enjoyed the privilege. You are a remarkable woman."

"I know." She laughed. "But I also see what you mean." She leaned up on her elbow, brushing strands of hair against his chest. "I don't trust happiness. It's dangerous. Makes you vulnerable."

"And you don't like that?"

He held her hand up to the ceiling. Tracing the dip and curl of each finger. He paused at the third finger. Saw the depression where a ring had been.

"You were married?" He asked.

"Yes." She replied, moving to grip his hand into hers. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all." He puckered his lips. "Was it happy? Did he die in the war?" Along with all the other faceless ones. The ones with only names now. Names that haunted his dreams sometimes.

"Not particularly." She risked it. "Was yours?" She felt a slight distance grow between them.

"It should have been." He admitted. "But no, no it wasn't. I wasn't ready for marriage. For responsibility. I was a bad husband."

She doubted that. He was, even in anonymity, one of the kindest, most tender men she had ever met.

"I'm divorced." Finally answering his question.

He continued to rub the palm of her hand with his finger. Brushing it.

"She died of the flu. I wasn't there at the time." He swallowed his guilt.

"The bolter and the widow." Her voice became cutting. "Sounds like a bad music hall revue skit."

His laugh only slightly embittered. "Do you not have a heart for a poor bereaved soul in torment?"

"Some would say I don't have a heart?" She sat up. Looked down at his beautiful face. He reached out to her and laid her down chest up against his body. So she could feel his hand move across her breasts and touch her beating heart.

"I think it's there." The rise and fall, the thumping and beats he liked to think a bit more quick because of his hand. Because of his touch. "And you?" He kissed the nape of her neck as it lay against his shoulder. "Do you think you have a heart?"

"I really don't know." And turned so that they could once again embrace and forget the world existed.

XX

"Let's go to Biarritz." She said. Feeling cooped up suddenly. The sun was hot against the window. Shining. A perfect day.

He had returned from the showers down the hall. An admittance he knew the aristocratic lady that had accepted his bed was more than a little put out by. She wanted a room of their own. One with running water preferably. After drying off he began to button his shirt. She tried not to notice it was worn around the collar.

Neither were willing to let go just yet. Not yet.

"Biarritz?" He shrugged. "Why not. I have a car." He was pulling on his shoes.

She liked that. Not so poor after all.

"But it has no petrol." He looked up from under his eyelids. "Bought it with the remains of my army pay. The shortages though make it pretty useless."

That would not stop her. She had already left him earlier that day to clear things up at a nearby hotel. Things she would not tell him specifically. He did not ask. She had returned with a bag.

Neither of them ever asked. Who are you? Why are you with me?

It was not important.

They were here. In this. This. Whatever it was. Consuming each other's body was quite enough. Healing, or pushing away, their troubles. Neither cared.

"If you drive," she compromised. "I will pay for the petrol."

"And the hotel?" He did not want real world intruding into their privacy. But he did have his pride.

"We'll find somewhere." She sat in his lap, feeling the rough tweed against her skin. Oddly thinking, I'm not used to seeing him dressed.

"I expect you'd want to stay at the Hotel du Palais." The former residence of Napoleon III and his bride. Where her set usually holed up when on weekends away.

"Oh no." She replied seductively moving her hand in between and splaying his hips aside. "I need somewhere much quieter."

He let her believe that. He suspected it was so that her society friends would not see her with him.

But as he too wanted somewhere private, somewhere they could be together without questions, he nodded agreement.

His own bags packed and thrown in the back of the two seater, he opened the door for her. "Your chariot awaits." He said with a chuckle. Then frowned as the door wedged and would not close. He slammed it shut after she took her seat. Shrugged his shoulders in disregard. "It just sticks a bit."

"It's very snappy." She slyly smirked. "Just as I like it." Reached out and felt his face. He leaned down and kissed her on the street.

He took the driver's seat and off down the street. Taking the scenic coastal roads and staying one night at a roadside inn they arrived early the next day. He had used up all his cash on the inn. The petrol was bought using her money.

"Let's find a place. I need a bath." She said, as they drove into the center of the town. She could see the Rocher de la Vierge. The lighthouse in the distance. The fancy hotel of Empress Eugenie dominating the skyline.

They chose a small coastal maison d'hôte. Accepting a private room in the back. They could not see the Atlantic, but could smell and taste the salt.

"Come with me." She had said, paying cash to the concierge and leading him to the room. And the en suite bath. "Hot water and all." And made a show of slowly taking off every piece of garment. Shoes. Hat. Travel skirt. Blouse.

"What are you waiting for…." Leaving a trail of these clothing items behind her as she sauntered into the bath. And left the newly purchased brassiere on the ground as she turned on the taps. His last glimpse was of her naked rear shimmying as an offering up.

He needed no further invitation.

Later the sounds of street musicians wafted into the room. They retreated downstairs and after purchasing two glasses of wine, sat them down on at a table and he took her hand out onto the sidewalk. His hands sidled down her waist and he pulled her close. Face to face. Cheek to cheek.

The violins reaching into their bodies and vibrating their souls.

They moved quietly, softly, seductively in time to the music. No one knew them. No one asked anything of them.

They asked nothing of each other but to just be there. Touching. Kissing. Caressing.

The jazz tune, straight from America came next. Along with the singer. First in French….

 _Ne dis pas que nous devons nous séparer_

 _Alors que tu ne briseras pas mon cœur endolori?_

Then in English, the sultry voiced singer reaching into the dancers hearts and making them think of the day they would part….

 _Some day when you grow lonely,_

 _Your heart will break like mine and you'll want me only,_

 _After you've gone, after you've gone away_

His lips met hers in a crushing, brutal kiss. "Let's go upstairs." His voice raw, inflamed.

They ended up on the balcony. Listening to the music still. The room hot, stifling. The air outside cool.

She knelt down against the balustrade. He came up behind her. She could feel him. His need for her. His desire. She melted against him. Wishing she was bolder.

He was.

His hand snaked around her waist. And down. In the darkness of the evening, just enough light so he could see the effect his actions had on her face. Her eyes closed in anticipation. She threw her head back against his shoulder, encouraging. One hand loosened her blouse and he felt for the hooks of the brassiere. Unhooking, allowing his hand to slip back around and touch her nipples. Feeling their hardened peaks in his fingertips. His other hand lifted her skirt, pushed the newly purchased lace slip aside. His fingers reaching between her slightly separated hips and up. Opening her up completely to him. She gasped and stumbled slightly against the balcony.

"Should I stop?" He asked.

"No." Ragged, sharp response.

He longed to taste her. But dared not. At least not yet. His fingers caressed her wet, slick insides, driving his fingers with just the right amount of pressure to make her weak, make her crumble. Small moans of pleasure his only reward.

She dared not scream aloud. She bit her lip instead, some red drops actually forming as her teeth grinded as she held against him for dear life. Her muscles tightened.

She longed to kiss him. Early on, what…she realized only a few days previous… they had not kissed. Had resisted that intimacy even as they drove each other to sexual frenzy. Almost too intimate, it was agonizing. His lips had danced against her mouth once or twice then withdrawn. Instead he pleasured her with his lips. His tongue. His face between her hips, working his tongue into her most private of spots. Thrusting and darting in and out she writhed in pleasure and bucked against his mouth. His actions sending waves upon waves of pleasure upon her body.

Eventually they had kissed. With their mouths. Feeling the other's palette. The other's teeth. The other's throat. Small quick kisses, long lingering kisses, deep erotic kisses.

Nothing was now beyond the pale of their desire.

She let his hands, his fingers roam free all over her body. Feeling more alive than ever. The bliss like a drug she could not get enough of.

His fingers then slackened, and grazed. Touching lightly. Making her even more mad with desire. Need.

He moved his hand away from her wet opening and back around to caress and massage her rounded derriere.

"We should go inside." His own voice now cracked and ragged with desire. He wanted to rip her clothes and take her. And that could only be done in the privacy of the room.

Even his lust had limits of stretching decorum's rules.

She was allowing him all this evening. The darkness their protection against the world. Their boldness their own rebellion.

She was so beautiful. He didn't deserve this much happiness.

His own skin grew hot, sweaty.

They returned to the room, and disrobed quickly. Taking to the bed she laying on top. Her breasts against his hot skin making him shudder. His eyes fluttered in anticipation.

She moved inside him, the length of his arousal making her sink deep into him. The shuddering turned to quick thrusts of action. His back curled up to grab her again. Pull her down against him. Pushing. Powerful thrusts of rocking action. Nothing to stop them. Her nails digging into his shoulders. His making bruising marks on her rear. He lost all sense of control as his climax over came him. Shattering him.

She grunted and felt her own waves subside. He had filled her body, her mind, her soul.

How was she to leave him? To let go of this?

But she must. Her mother had been put off long enough. Her family would be worried.

His hand, still sweat soaked from their exertions, touched her skin. And she pushed such thoughts of leaving aside once again.

The music wafted into their room on the breeze. The whole night was still before them.

XX

 **Downton Abbey: July 1919**

Mary's swift, statement making departure from the room took Matthew but a moment to recover.

He turned on his heels and followed her out. Grabbed her arm to make her stop.

She shook herself free and glared at him.

"Are you mad?" She said, "They'll all know something is up."

He looked at her with a cold eye. "I doubt that." His voice was pitched so low that even she barely heard. "After that little performance, I'm quite sure you will stage a magnificent reentrance."

His anger was palpable. Seething. Just under the veneer of polite regard he had screwed on to meet Lord Grantham's family. But with her. With Mary… the name still one he had to get used to. He let it out.

"Are you ashamed of it?" Matthew asked suddenly. "Now that you're back here." And he thrust his hands around the grandeur of the saloon. "Ashamed to tell them you spent the last month holed up in a grubby Parisian hotel with a total stranger? Because you weren't then."

"How dare you?" The aristocratic tone now unmistakable. "There is such a thing as discretion."

"And there's such a thing as giving someone the benefit of the doubt." He spat the words out.

"Do you think I wanted to come here? To take your money? And your title? Like some counter jumper ready to take advantage of a death in the family to move up the food chain?"

Matthew tightened his grip on the bowler. His face now red with righteous irritation. "Well I don't want it. So calm down."

He reached out for her. More gently this time. "I don't want your money. I came to tell Lord Grantham that. I was just about to ask to speak to him privately when I saw you on the settee."

She sought his eyes to see if he was telling the truth. All the time they spent together in Paris, in Biarritz, she grew most to trust those eyes. They held his soul. She did trust him.

"I…I'm sorry." She accepted his proffered hand. Led him to a more private alcove so they could speak more freely. "I jumped to conclusions. I was so startled to see you there. I thought…" She hated what she was had thought. That he had taken advantage of her to find out information about her family. To use for his own means.

"I know what you thought." His manner calmer now. "It's understandable in the circumstances. You thought I was pushing in. That I might even expose you for my own underhanded benefit. Oh Mary…" He used her name for the first time. The very first time. "Mary… how life has made you so distrustful I'll never know. I would never, could never do that to you."

She leaned in. "I know that now. Can you forgive me."

"Of course." He looked to see if anyone was around. Lifted her chin and kissed her lightly. "You…our time in France… was the best thing that ever happened to me."

That made her smile.

But then he said, "If truth be told, I think I preferred it when you were anonymous." His voice turning melancholy.

She shuddered at that. Better off as some anonymous lover? "Because I was just an easy object for you to use? That I mean nothing to you?" The cold calculating Lady Mary reasserting itself.

"No." Matthew responded gently. "I … used poor phrasing there. You are the very opposite of nothing. Your leaving me left me bereft. Like a part of me was missing."

Mary was not sure how to take that. She always prided herself on self-possession. She did not know how to give herself away like that.

"Indeed," Matthew continued. "You are the only reason I am still here. I was about to tell your father he could keep his money and his bloody pile of stones and bricks of a castle. That I did not want it. As a matter of fact I think it may have cursed my family."

The bitterness, the unsaid accusations made Mary wary of him for the first time. She had never seen him so angry, so agitated.

"That's nonsense. What do you mean? You're the next heir is all? Papa's lawyers looked into it all after Patrick died."

"That's just it." Matthew's voice turned to a biting whisper. "What your father did not say when he introduced me was that I was not supposed to be the heir at all. My father was. Until three days ago that is. Murray's letter was addressed to him. In Manchester. I was still in Paris."

"Then what?" Mary was now quite perplexed. "What is going on Matthew?"

His eyes beetled back and forth as he tried to be succinct. "Three days ago I took the ferry back to England. I was summoned to Manchester by the police. I was needed at home. No explanations. I got to my parents' home, to find it also full of policemen and detectives." He stopped, his voice now raspy with pain. He bit the inside of his mouth but continued. "My father had shot himself. Put his old service revolver to his mouth and pulled the trigger."

Mary instinctively reached out to him, but he pulled away. "The letter from the lawyer in his hand."

He looked her brutally in the eye. "So it seems, for some reason I have yet to fathom, my father would rather kill himself than be heir to Downton Abbey."

XX

 _Well… you did say to continue this story… tell me what you think. We're going to take canon and twist it on it's head…_

 _[Oh...and I've not forgotten the other stories... a very happy George and Matthew go on an adventure is next up for Three Strikes...maybe by the weekend? I'm under a lot stress at the moment...and fan fic writing keep me from fretting... so I might have time this week to pursue much happier topics]_


	3. Ch 3: Ta Bouche sur Ma Bouche

The last night together, he thought. Back from Biarritz, they had agreed. But yet they could not part.

The tug of skin, of touch, of kiss was still there. Lingering on lips, on their body, in their soul.

He knew he would never see her again. This kind of bliss was out of his grasp. Ephemeral, it had to be savored. For it would be gone. Soon.

She was making overtures even now. Even as they lazed about in the rumpled bedsheets of his hotel room once again. She had said the night before that she had to go.

But instead had stayed one more night. One more day.

Truth be told she also wanted to retreat from life into this world of two.

But it was not to be. Her real life, if not beckoning, rather pulled and tugged her away from him. Responsibilities. As few as they were, and internally rolled her eyes, nagged at her.

Her mother would worry as well.

Except…

Except she wanted to give in to total abandonment. Give in to the rich, beguiling sound of his voice, reciting a poem in French from memory upon a challenge from her

She could always put off for another day her decision to return to England.

…. She looked at him. He scrunched his face in a delightful contortion of concentrated effort and unassuming charm.

She hated him….

 _Puisque j'ai mis ma lèvre à ta coupe encor pleine;  
Puisque j'ai dans tes mains posé mon front pâli;  
Puisque j'ai respiré parfois la douce haleine  
De ton âme, parfum dans l'ombre enseveli;_

In French any word out of his mouth sounded like an utter seduction. His words, his tone, his inflections and accent. She felt her body betray the last bits of her resolve made her essentially putty in his hands. Pliable. Practically submissive. She would do anything he wanted. Mostly because he would never take advantage such compliance. She knew his respect for her. His reverence for her body was in his tender touch. He would do nothing she did not want. Nothing to betray her trust.

That's what made her even more his than ever. She sighed deep and pulled herself closer to him.

He stopped… stumbled on the next bit " _Puisqu'il me fut donné de t'entendre me dire_ …

"Entendre…. " He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His hands started to gesture out in front of him as if trying to grasp at the words.

"Ha." She said gently mocking. "You can't remember it."

"Wait..." He said. "Wait…" He stumbled a bit some more then said. "Well I remember this bit…" And kissed her with a fierceness. " _Ta bouche sur ma bouche…"_

And both were lost to their bodies need again.

Later, much into the night, too late for her to return to her own hotel as she had initially planned, she said, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow I must go back to… to where I was staying before we met."

His hum of understanding in her ear danced and tickled her.

"I see." He said.

"And." Here the resolve stood. "I will need to go back to England. Very soon."

The sigh of resignation pained her. But it had to be done.

"I know." And his arms encircled her.

They slept.

XX

She packed her few belongings back into the case she had brought with them to Biarritz.

He sat on the end of the bed. Watching her.

"Why don't you come to my hotel?" She turned to him. He quirked an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Room 312 Hotel Royale on the Place de la Vendue."

He was impressed. But not surprised. "That's a nice address."

She shrugged studiously. "You knew that."

He nodded. "I'll wear my uniform. Be less conspicuous."

She understood and silently agreed without having to humiliate by putting it into words. His suit was worn, and would draw attention to himself if walked into a luxury hotel and caught the eye of the concierge.

She left abruptly. Their good-byes would be later.

A couple hours later he followed her. He spent the times polishing his boots and shining his belt buckles.

No one asked him or questioned his right to be at the Hotel Royale. An officer in the British Army, with the rank of Captain, wearing the ribbon of the Victoria Cross could stride across the lobby and take the grand staircase two steps at a time without a glance of disapproval or a sniff of censure.

The fact that such snobbery, such elite arrogance still existed after the supposed war to end all wars did not really surprise him. The notion that everyone would come out to a golden sunrise of equality and freedom was utter bollocks. What was it President Wilson had said, "Only a peace between equals can last. Only a peace the very principle of which is equality and a common participation in a common benefit." Yet veterans were met with the same old resistance upon returning home trying to find jobs to feed their families. "A Home fit for Heroes…." With unemployment and labor unrest aplenty, all of that still seemed very much a dream. At worse people 'back home' wanted to forget the war. Get on with life… The soldiers had yet to learn how. It was as if life at peace was still a dream. Reaching out…something they could not yet grasp.

He had written about it more than once in the months since the armistice. But he had no answers either.

Instead he drifted. In a fog. Of indifference and ennui.

Until now. This woman. This time. Could he let go? He had to. It would be painful. Perhaps even break him further. But he knew that going into it.

And he was willing to be torn asunder by her. To have the last of his breath taken by her.

She had become his life. He would survive without her.

But he'd never love again.

He knocked on Room 312. A soft voice beckoned him to enter. He did so. He walked into the luxurious suite. Rich decorative molding in geometric patterns, Louis quartorze chaise longue with sweeping S shaped curves, fauteuils surrounding a dark colored table. She was in the doorway to the bedroom. Framed by its dramatic curves and fleur-de-lis motifs, she appeared as a goddess about to greet a supplicant.

Her beauty, her intelligence took his breath away. This was her turf here. She was in her element.

She wore a Chinese tunic dress. He had seen some window shopping on a rainy day not too long ago. Ivory lace with a short silk brocade skirt of blue, embroidered with flowers and butterflies. She did not, however, wear the corset so her breasts, full and enticing could be seen underneath the sheer ecru silk of the bodice.

"Is this for my benefit?" He could hardly get the words out, his mouth already dry from desire.

"If you like it?" She said, feeling the softness of the silk against her skin as she walked towards him. "I just bought it."

"I like it very much." His lips crushing hers. His fingers touching the delicacy of the brocade. The expertise of the embroidery. The small tassels on the sleeves.

He reached up under the skirt and felt her naked skin. She wore no undergarments at all.

She had been waiting for him. Wanting him to touch her.

He obliged.

A crashing, burning love making session began. First against the door frame. She was wet, ready for him. Needing him to put his fingers into her opened thighs. Ready for him to push her against the hardness of the wood. His lips tearing into hers. She whimpered in delight.

Making every part of her body tremble as she shucked his clothes off and he continued to pry open her mouth and felt his tongue push its way down her throat.

She opened herself to him when he was as naked. She felt along his tight torso. The muscles twitching beneath the goosebumped hairs. Down to his bellybutton and to his taut erection. Her touch made him groan into her ear. Soft grunts of about a second interval each followed as her hands massaged and manipulated his arousal.

"Lift up your arms." He both asked and commanded, his voice once again that guttural sound as if his life depended upon her acting as he wished.

She raised her arms up for him to lift off the tunic. He grabbed both and put them in a tight vise grip behind her. Using one hand he kept them there as he spread open her legs and pushed inside her. His thrusts made her lose all sense of balance. His grip was hard, but pleasurable against her bounded wrists. She cried out as he reached into her with his own bucking, thrusting needy exertions. He would not let go. They were tied together, body and soul. She was all his. He was all hers.

This was as it should ever be.

When each had satiated other, they lay entwined limbs and arms and hearts on her soft bedcovers. The feel of the material, the sensuality of the woman beside him, her hair splayed magnificently aware against the brocaded pillowcase, made him inarticulate. He was incapable of thinking he'd ever be this happy again.

So of course it had to end. Just as it had begun.

"I will not stay the night." He said. "I'll leave you to your packing."

She turned.

"I'll say good-bye now." He tried to keep his voice from cracking. He failed.

She heard it. Bit her lip as a tear unexpectedly formed at the side of her left eye.

Without any resistance from her, they both knew it was the end, she let him get up. He kissed her one last time. Dressed. And closed the door behind him. Pausing, one hand on the handle, one eye half in the room, the other already out the door, "Good-bye." Grating, hard, only half spoken.

He left.

"Good-bye." She whispered to the man who was no longer there. No longer in her bed or her life.

But remained in the heart whose existence she used to doubt.

She doubted no more.

XX

That was what Mary's was thinking at dinner. As the soft, polite conversation flowed around her she remembered her heart.

And that the man seated across from her possessed it.

Without a twinge of guilt, she also realized she would never regret that. She had given it to him freely. As a lover and as a gentleman he had accepted it with respect. With reverence and esteem.

Even as he tasted her body, entered her with tongue and brought her to peaks of ecstasy no woman of her class and station was supposed to enjoy, he never betrayed her.

She had been shameless with him. Yet felt no shame. Was this what they called love?

As if to they were subconsciously connected, she felt his eyes on her. As if he knew her thoughts. Her cheeks flamed a bright red.

He grinned privately. Mary his only line to life at the moment. And he clung to her.

The moment passed as Robert spoke and Matthew tried to give him full attention. But Robert's pomposity was more than grating on him at the moment. It was as if the sense of noblesse oblige forced his distant cousin into grandiose salutations as an act of informing the less fortunate relation of the newly acquired station he now possessed. And one in which he should be more than a bit grateful in having bestowed upon him.

"Downton has over 31,000 thousand acres of farm and grassland. It is a deep and important responsibility." Even as he spoke the words, Matthew sensed he was a disappointment to Robert. That he didn't cut the mustard, come up to snuff or whatever other pathetic phrases the aristocrats threw about to put people like him in their place.

Matthew never crowed on about his achievements in life. But it was as if Mephistopheles sat on his shoulder, whispering he should put this member of an archaic class that no longer mattered to anyone in his place.

He resisted doing that out of sheer politeness. Especially to Mary. He would focus his attentions solely on Mary. The branch of the Crawleys' that Robert represented had been almost wholly unknown to Matthew. He had heard his parents whisper, saw his father cringe and get angry at the mention of certain family names. But he did not really know the reason why.

It was partially why he was here. Sheer curiosity. His father's death, ghastly in its method and completely unexpected, left Matthew at sea. It wasn't as if the two were particularly close. Especially in later years, as Matthew had been away either at school, university, or war. But he loved and admired his father. Both men had taken Isobel's death hard. Both had dealt with it by essentially not dealing with it at all. Reggie had retreated to his books and his quiet library in Manchester. Matthew had sought to disappear into the _Génération au Feu_ after the war. To use the war as an excuse to do nothing. To think nothing. To remember nothing. To love nothing.

He tried to drag his attention back to Robert. "Of course so many of the better families have lost heirs. We've all had to go search into the dusty parts of the genealogy." Robert tried to jest. "And here we've found you."

The strained chuckle from Violet was meant both as a warning and a reprimand to Robert. No need, she seemed to say, to insult the new heir just as he arrived to save the family.

Violet had driven up in her chauffeured car just in time to greet the new young heir upon his return a second time to the big house. Matthew had taken the train back to Manchester to scrounge his upstairs bedroom closet for clothing more suitable for the dress code required of the dinner to which he had been invited.

Showing up in the best he could find amongst his old, prewar clothes, the evening jacket and white tie were presentable. If a little wrinkled. And loose fitting as he had lost weight while at the front.

Violet, having been forewarned on the telephone of Matthew's invitation, tried to keep her opinions to herself. He was shabby and out of fashion. A bit rough around the edges. And distant in any affection towards the family. At least that was a blessing. So many others in his position would have been full of false charm and bravado. Simpering and affected they would greet and compliment effusively to insinuate themselves into the family of the class they desperately aspired to join.

This young man appeared quite the opposite. Undaunted by the presence of the Dowager Countess, he greeted her simply as "Cousin Violet." He appeared indeed as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

Mary felt at a loss to help. Without giving herself away.

Robert wanted to get Matthew to open up more about his background. He knew well enough to not bring up the topic of his father's death, but as Robert had been only briefed on the elder Reggie Crawley's education and work, he knew next to nothing about the son's. Only that he lived away in France as a kind of bohemian dilettante since the war ended. Not really the man he wanted as his heir.

"What did you do in the war, Matthew?"

Robert's question was first greeted with a blank stare. As if he was reluctant to say.

"Your cousin Patrick was Mentioned in Despatches several times for gallantry at Ypres then later at Amiens." Robert boasted. He had been so proud of Patrick. His death a severe blow in so many ways.

"Oh yes." Matthew replied cautiously. "He died at Amiens I gather. Ghastly business. I was well out of it though. I was with the War Office by then."

"Really?" Robert inhaled. "Red tab were you?" A bit disappointing that his new heir was not a line officer, but a pencil pusher.

Matthew's short breathed reproach was unambiguous. Coldly he said, "No. I was not one of the yellow brigade." He gripped his fork tight in his hand just as one of the footmen approached him with a tray of food.

"Do you need me hold it steady? You can help yourself." He intoned making Matthew that much more angry.

"No you bloody peacock I can fucking well serve myself," he wanted to say. But turned his face up to greet the unctuous bastard in the eye, and said instead, "Yes I know. Thank you." Clipped and coolly spoken as the officer he was, the footman retreated.

Robert seemed not to notice Matthew being put out. "You'll soon get used to the way things are done." Which only made Mary audibly groan at the other end of the table.

Matthew's hand continued to tremble though; he felt as if he was on display. On approval to this family he did not even want to be a part of.

So he began to set the record straight.

"I was an infantry officer to begin with, in 1915 when I volunteered for service with the Duke of Manchester's Own Light Infantry Brigade." He said it direct to Robert, getting the older man's full attention finally. "But I was severely wounded at Fromelles, in the Somme. My men were rather lacking in experience, and in trying to save one of them from an enemy shell, I sustained a spinal bruising when we both fell into a crater atop a mass of debris that penetrated my lower pelvis and left me paralyzed for several months until it healed."

Everyone was listening now. Matthew, however, kept his head bowed over the table. Not wanting to look up and see the pity in their eyes. If he did, he'd never get through the telling.

"I was not discharged however, even during recovery. I was transferred to serve as a kind of senior liaison officer with the Secretary of State for War because of my legal training and knowledge of diplomacy." He continued. "Once I began to walk again, using a cane at first it was easier to travel back and forth between London and the front. Eventually as the war wound down, I found myself working with the French as Foch has been named _Maréchal de France and Généralissime_ of the Allied Armies."

This prompted Mary to interrupt Matthew's monologue. "That's why you speak French like a native…."

At Matthew's knowing eye brow raising, she stopped. "I ..erm… mean… your accent is perfect." She groaned slightly at her faux pas. But frankly the entire discussion was making her upset. So much had happened to Matthew in the war that she knew nothing about. It had been their unspoken pact in France not to tell either anything of their past except in the most vague of memories. His speaking of his injury had conjured up the image of his naked back to her. She had been tickling him, he had turned over and she could see scars and patches of white. She had not asked how he had gotten those wounds.

She wanted to comfort him. Maybe she could, later on. In a private moment. But now she had to keep up the appearance that she had never met the man seated opposite her at the dinner table.

Matthew demurred, trying to save Mary from further revelatory embarrassment. "Thank you. I did have to learn it all again rather quickly after forgetting most of it after university."

Robert, though impressed by Matthew's accomplishments in the war, felt as if he was being put in his place by this young upstart.

"Such accomplishments speak well of you." He admitted, but only that. "Your wound? Is it fully healed now?"

Matthew again spoke plain. "Well the doctors who examined me say that I will walk fine for the rest of my life, but that …erm.. certain other functions might have been impaired. Might result in my inability to sire children, for example."

At that revelation a pin could be heard to be dropped. There really wasn't anything else to say was there, Matthew thought. The siring of children, of heirs and spares was the main reason for his existence at Downton Abbey.

Perhaps he wouldn't be welcome there after all. Just as well, as he didn't want to be their pet. The beneficiary of their noblesse oblige.

Mary, on the other side of the table, stared as well. She could hardly believe it. She knew herself that her infertility led her into the abandonment of their love making. It had never occurred to her that he believed the same of himself.

"That is disappointing." Robert admitted. He put his hand up to his brow and massaged it. This had been the most trying of dinners. And now to find this out.

"I thought you'd feel that way." So dryly spoken, it came out of Matthew's mouth before he could bite it back. "I don't think I'll ever be the heir you were truly seeking."

Violet and Cora tried to begin another conversation about the upcoming Garden Fete but the strain was felt throughout the rest of the dinner.

And when it was over, everyone felt a sense of relief. The ladies started to depart leaving Robert and Matthew to cigars and port, but Matthew could not take it.

He got up. "I don't mean to rush off after such a generous dinner, but I do have a train to catch back to Manchester. I have a great deal to do and I really must go."

Robert, for once, did not stop him. He had no stomach for after dinner conversation with this most haughty of young men.

Mary, however caught up to him as he rushed off towards the front door.

She tried to sound as if she was just being polite, but in her eyes he could see the pleading. "Do you really have to go? We've only just gotten to know you."

He said, "I must I'm afraid." He took his overcoat from the same officious footman that served at dinner, and walked out the door.

Mary, no longer caring about appearances, walked out with him. When the door closed, they were alone.

"Mary." He said, in a much more intimate voice. "I am so so sorry. It was a mistake coming here at all. It's clear I'm not the person your father wants. The less said between us the better, eh?"

"But when will I see you? We have to talk." She felt his trembling hand. He was barely keeping it together.

She ungloved her own hand, and entwined their fingers together. Her warmth flooded into him.

"I know. Can you come to Manchester? I need help in clearing out my parents' house. I don't think I can tackle it alone. Will you help me? I've taken rooms at the Manchester Arms. You could stay with me there. Or… uh… I mean take separate rooms. But I would very much like you to be with me. That way we could talk."

"How could I get away for more than a day?" She wanted desperately to be with him as well. To talk. To make love.

"You could say you've gone away? On a … a sketching holiday?" He tried to come up with an excuse for a young woman to get away from the prying eyes of her family.

She had to laugh. "I don't sketch."

"Then bird watching…" he had to laugh too. "Or think of something else. I need you." He kissed the palm of her hand. His lips were soft, making her tingle.

"I will." Mary replied, her own voice husky with intimacy. "I'll find a way."

"Good." And he put on his overcoat. "And I will try very hard to get on better with your family. But under the circumstances, I don't see much future in it."

She nodded with a certain resignation. Frankly neither did she.

XX  
 _Ok. I had to get all that out…. What do you think?_

 _The poem is by Victor Hugo._

 _I will now commence to think very hard about my other stories and not let this one fill my brain_!


	4. Ch 4: Apres la Guerre

_I know… I know… but this story won't get out of my head…_

"Well that was quite the display." Robert said returning from dining room after a quick cigar smoke, alone.

Cora reminded him. 'Things are the way they are. There's no point in believing otherwise. He's the future of Downton."

Robert harrumphed. "At least Mary agrees with me. The man can hardly hold his knife correctly."

"I liked his directness." Edith said, walking into the music room. "Someone to bring a bit of spark to this family." She sat down next to Violet.

"Do you think he'd be available for an interview? His work with the peace talks could make for an interesting article." She turned to Mary who returned from outside.

Mary took a seat opposite.

"How should I know?" With an irascibility she was quite proud of. No one needed to know about her time with Matthew in Paris. Especially Edith if she was intent on poking around his background. His anger, the revelation of his father's death obviously weighed heavily upon him. She didn't want her sister going and stirring it all up before she had a chance to figure it all out.

"You seem to get on well with him." Edith shrugged.

"Yes." Robert turned, picking up on Edith's train of thought. "Mary how could you run out like that?"

"I simply wanted to make sure he knew he was welcome here." Mary smoothed down an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt to avoid eye contact.

"That's rich." Edith replied. "Seeing how negative you were towards him when he first came. Wasn't he the one to steal your inheritance?"

"I apologized to him. It's not his fault all this has been thrust upon him. He's stuck with decisions. I know that too well to be angry at him." Mary knew that to be truer than the rest of her family realized. She now understood it was that stranded quality that drew them together in the first place. Both out of step. Needing a safe port. You want to fight. But you're too exhausted. So things roll over you. Mary had always fought those demons with an affectation of strength and invulnerability. Matthew had seen right through it.

"You've not developed feelings for this man already? I find his arrogance disturbing." Robert was pouring a drink at the cart.

Edith snorted. "Oh Papa. Soldiers all the time are returning home different. Shaped by their experiences, but coming back to people who want to return to a world that no longer exists."

Mary added, "And need I remind you he is your heir."

Robert did a double take. "There must be a full moon when you two howl in unison about anything."

Mary had to smile. "See Papa, when Edith and I agree, you are surely in the wrong."

That made Robert pause, but he shook his head. "It is true, the world has moved on without me. I'm not sure where I fit anymore. But I am still head of this family, and frankly young Matthew Crawley gives me a headache. There are certain standards of etiquette…"

"The war…" Edith started in again.

"And yes I know all about the war pretext for rudeness of this new generation. They seem to forget that my generation was also a generation of war. We didn't make it an excuse for bad form."

"No, Violet added quietly. "Just blinded by chauvism for which they've paid a heavy price."

Robert conceded to his mother. He sighed and changed the subject. "In any event, as Mary says he is the new heir. But I'm not at all sure I want you paying him much mind. There are other prospects out there for you." He huffed slightly. "Better ones."

She bristled. "Like some prize pig? Are you putting me out to market again?" Mary retorted." Papa, I thought we went through all this years ago. I'm perfectly capable of making up my own mind and living my own life."

"As your recent marriage debacle so truly brought to life." He reminded her. Mary's fingered gripped her sherry glass. She had been through this so many times with her family. And part of her understood. She had entered an ill-advised marriage on a whim of rebellion, and had come back with her tail between her legs. She hated that reality. And felt her financial vulnerability more than ever. She had masqued it in a determination to just get on with things, thus the trip to Paris with her mother.

And the chance meeting with the man who had felt the same bone weariness. Inverses of each other, they wrapped minds and bodies without identity. It was the most freeing experience of her life.

She could not go back. But she had no idea of her future.

The family had taken his disclosures in their stride. Meaning they kept their true emotions bottled up inside. But she could tell. Finding out he was heir was a shock. The revelation that he had been severely injured in the war horrified. That he was possibly sterile catastrophic.

If she was to look to him as a savior to come and rescue her from a future of duty and responsibility all that was now dust. Not that she was. Was she?

Her reverie was interrupted by Cora once again playing mediator. "Now now Robert. All that is in the past. Mary only wants to be friendly. What's the harm in that?"

"Exactly." Mary thought wickedly. Even if 'friendly' included running her hands all over his naked form and allowing him extravagant claims on her own body.

XX

Matthew had told Mrs. Robbins that he could fend for himself. Now that the coroners had finally left along with the investigators, he felt drained. Not willing to be polite to one other person. Nor to be interrogated by detectives who seemed to think that Matthew should know more than he did.

He lost count of the number of "I don't knows" he answered. Was his father sick? Did he have a history of mental disturbance? Was his wife's death more traumatic than first realized? How did he get the weapon?

That one he knew. Reginald Crawley got it while serving in South Africa. 1900. He had been at school, at Rugby. He was 9 and had been called to the headmaster's office. His mother informed him that not only was his father now at Pretoria working alongside Sir Frederick Treves, she would soon join him after finishing her own nursing training.

He remembered blinking. Then taking it like the stoics he had been taught to emulate. He solemnly nodded, kissed her cheek, and said "Good luck, Mummy." He never noticed her wan appearance. Her sadness.

He made himself a cup of tea.

Once the detectives were gone back to write their reports, his father could be buried. The funeral director would be at the house tomorrow.

It felt so empty. The house had never felt empty before. His mother's chatter. The cook's rattling the pans. Or complaining about the oven. His father's patients moving in and out of the surgery when he had open hours in the morning.

He had taken it all for granted. It would always be the same whenever he returned home. School holidays. The long vac at university. Even his leave time during the war.

It was the same.

And then it wasn't. And he realized nothing ever stays the same.

Isobel had volunteered with the Red Cross. Matthew was in hospital at Fromelles recovering from his spinal injury. She had hoped to spend some time with him.

She had managed one visit. She had just appeared at the foot of his bed one day. Her smile, her warm light up the room smile was the first thing he saw. Because it looked screwed on. Her smile never lied.

His injury was serious, he knew that. Her smile confirmed it was potentially life altering.

"Mother." He spoke through cracked, parched lips. His cheek trembled. He did not want her seeing him like this. And yet he never wanted her leave.

"I've spoken to Sister Carol and she informs me your prognosis is a good one." Isobel came to sit next to Matthew. She took his scarred hand.

"You know you blink when you lie, Mother?" Matthew had said, trying to let her know it was fine to talk the truth.

"It does not." She tried to laugh. Then blinked again.

That made them both laugh.

"I know the worst." Matthew squeezed her hand. "I might not ever walk again."

"Nonsense." Isobel snapped. "I'll talk to the doctors later. But this type of injury is common with falls. You have every chance of recovery."

He had nodded. It was better to let her hope.

And it turned out she was right. He had begun to feel sensations in his toes soon after she left to return to her own duties in Paris. They had managed a good visit though. She had walked him around the garden of the hospital in his wheelchair. They had sat under a large shade tree.

The companionable silence. That was what he remembered now. Sitting in the family dining room, sipping a tepid cup of tea. He closed his eyes and he remembered the feel of the wind on his skin. The murmur of other patients sitting in a nearby gazebo. His mother knowing he did not want to talk. But wanted her presence. Her strength.

He had told her he loved her. Would see her soon. They set up a date for a visit in Paris upon his recovery. And he never saw her again. The Germans had bombed Paris via zeppelin. She had been walking down the street to her hotel. It could have happened to anyone.

But it happened to his family. A casualty of war, the officers had said that came to inform him. They had taken her body back to Manchester and buried while he was in recovery.

In the meantime he received notice that he was to be the recipient of the Victoria Cross for pre-eminent act of valour in the recent events on the Somme. The night action in which he saved the lives of numerous soldiers under his command by running down the line under heavy artillery fire and bombs and throwing his arms out to capture as many as he could and using his and their body weights pushed them all to safety inside a crater. He then went out again to locate one corporal when the two of them were thrown into a pit of debris. The young corporal died.

He got a medal. He was awarded the VC in a quick ceremony at the hospital.

He wanted to be sick. He wanted to give it to that corporal. To his mother. For her sacrifice. Her valour. Instead he took it in her honour and in memory of all those who deserved it more than he did. He realized that the majority of other VC recipients were dead. And he lived. He would live for them. For them and his mother.

He survived. He would not let the war win.

He lived.

But he found no comfort in living. He made a rash decision that had ended disastrously.

So he drifted. For months after the war. And then found Mary. And life. Not just breathing, but life. The touch of her skin. The feel of her mouth. Of her hips opening to him. Of entering her. Of taking her. The ecstasy. The plateau. And then the letdown. Except it did not leave him cold and alone. Her warmth enveloped him. Healed him. Made him only want to be with her.

Their parting had hurt. But he knew it would happen. He had continued writing and living in Paris. Not really knowing what to do, when the call came from the Manchester police.

His father was dead by his own hand.

He had lost everyone.

And then Mary re-entered into his life. That day at Downton, when he saw her on that red settee, when she brushed past him with such a stare that would make grown men whimper—he felt his world shift back into place.

And he knew. He knew he was hers body and soul. He would accept this title of Robert's. This estate. Simply because he could see her again.

But he would not let her sacrifice her happiness for him. The circumstances of his father's death. The issues of past animosity between the Crawley's. His sterility. Which would probably get worse so that eventually he could not function sexually at all.

He would never let that passionate woman who made his pulse race just with a slide of her fingers along the palm of his hand be without a partner who could fulfill all of her.

Even if it meant seeing her with another man. As long as that man made her happy.

Could he really do that? This was what he was pondering when he heard a knock at the front door.

XX

The knock at the door startled his solitude. Opening the latch to find it was Mary.

"Mary." He breathed her name. He loved saying her name now.

"You did ask me to visit." Mary was taking off her gloves as he gestured inside.

"Yes of course. I wasn't sure you could get away." He took her hat and placed it on a chair. They walked into the living room.

"Sorry it's at sixes and sevens. The …." He choked. "the coroner was here and the police…."

"Shh." Taking his hand. "We'll put it right."

"What?" He said, recovering just merely with her presence, her scent that he remembered lingering on his pillows in his dreary Parisian flat. "Lady Mary Crawley grubbing about tidying and dusting?"

"Needs must right?" She crooked her eye at him. "We all have to pitch in. That's what was drilled into me during the war. When Downton was a convalescent home. You'd be surprised by what I can handle now."

"It must have come as quite a shock." He remembered his own convalescence. The screams in the night from the other patients. Sometimes his own howling and cursing.

"We didn't have it as bad as Sybil." At his confusion she said, "My other sister. She served as a VAD at the front. She's married now, in Ireland. We're expecting them to visit sometime this autumn."

"That will be nice for your mother." His voice said, betraying his own still raw feelings of grief.

"It will." And she gave his arm a squeeze. She walked around the room, having every intention of putting together a plan to help him organize this move. But was jolted almost immediately by the pictures on the piano in the corner.

A wedding photo. Matthew, in a handsome formal red jacketed uniform but looking pale and thin. The bride, holding sweet smile for the camera but her eyes giving away her fear and distress.

"Lavinia." Matthew's calm voice bringing Mary back to reality. She had not even realized she had picked up the silver frame. It shook in her hand. She knew he had been married. He had told her as much in Paris. But this picture was so sad, so melancholy it shook her to the core. As if their marriage had been doomed from the start.

"She's very pretty." Mary managed to say.

"Yes." He remained composed. "You can't tell by that picture, but she had beautiful auburn hair." He walked over and took the photo from Mary's hand. Carefully placed it back on the dust covered piano case. "She loved me very much. And I did not love her nearly as much as she deserved."

"I'm sure she believed you did." Mary said, grasping at something to comfort him.

"You're probably right. She didn't want me to be sad. She said so in her last letter. She knew our marriage was a sham. I had rushed her to the altar after my mother's death. I thought I needed someone else to replace her. It was the worst thing I could have done. I went back almost immediately after our rather pathetic honeymoon. It was right after I started walking, but my legs, my body - they still betrayed me. We barely saw each other after that. I was either at the front or in Paris. Then she died in London at her father's house where she lived while I was overseas." He swallowed hard. "She died without me."

He turned to Mary. "Thing is, as terrible as this sounds, I barely remember how she spoke. We hardly knew each other."

"Don't blame yourself for love you did not feel." Mary moved away from the set of photos and back towards the center of the room. "I'm sure she would not."

He gave her a wan smile. "Thank you. I've made my peace with her memory. I'm much better now. This war has taken so many young people, so many needless deaths."

He wrinkled his brow in thought. "So many changes. No wonder you father finds it all a bit daunting to take in. And then there's Patrick. I gather they were close." Matthew was trying to make conversation. To get to know this woman. It was so very odd. He knew every intricacy of her body.

But he knew next to nothing of her life.

"Yes they were." She said quietly. "Papa wanted me to marry him, of course."

At Matthew's startled look she nodded. "He was the heir. I thought of Patrick as a brother. So it was a non-starter from the get go. Instead I ran off to live with my aunt Rosamund in London. Met a man I soon married. Papa got over his anger when he met Tony and realized he was a Viscount and owner of a large estate. It's all too dreary for words, I'm afraid. Something out of a bad stage period drama."

He had to laugh. "Is there a murder? Did the butler do it?"

"No. But the valet was accused." She slyly smirked. Glad to bring a smile to his face.

She moved to refill her tea cup. "The upshot was, my husband was still in love with another woman. They started an affair when he was away on supposed business trips. And when we had no children with in the first year of our marriage he grew weary of me." She shrugged. "As I was of him."

"We divorced. I was barren. He was a philanderer. It's a wonder it didn't make the society gossip columns. The Armistice came at the same time, ironically saving me from that scandal."

Matthew was no longer listening. "Barren?" He murmured. "Are you sure?"

"Well I have had no children." She told him direct. "With my husband. Nor with you."

"Yes but I told you of my … my medical condition. I will accept being heir for your sake. But I'll never be the heir your father wanted. I will probably never marry again."

He took her hand. "But that means nothing for you. You can let that be a hindrance to your future happiness. Find someone else. Have a life." He said it so quietly, she wasn't sure she heard him, "Have a life. Just not with me."

"For women of my class, marriage is the only way out. Either that or we stay at home and become spinsters."

"But you got out once. Married. Divorced. You found a measure of independence."

"Yet here I am. I know I should not complain. With so much suffering. So much pain and death. It's just so pathetic. Why I got angry over that blasted entail. My life is tied up with the house. Unless I leave it to marry again."

"You don't have to marry against your own wishes surely? Even if I inherit, you'll always have a home at Downton as long as I'm alive."

"But not as a husband?" She asked quietly.

"No. It's too much to ask." He held his face in his hands. "What sane woman would want a man as I am now? Especially one who wants marriage and children?"

"And what if someone wants to be with you? On any terms?" Softly spoke, Mary glanced into his eyes. They were as pained as her own.

"You don't mean that." He spoke bitterly. He wanted her completely. "I'll not see you waste any more of your life."

"Like Paris. Like Biarritz." She reminded him. "We were lovers. I was happy. So were you. You can't deny it."

"That was different." He barely spoke a whisper. "Like a dream. You know it. We were living in a dream. And this is real life. It would be as if I took you under false pretenses. Or as a kept woman or something? I couldn't do that. You'd despise me for it after a while."

"Let me be the judge of that." Her words harsh and raw. "I want you."

He looked at her, searching for her to recoil. To turn away. She did not.

"I'm no good for you." He said as harshly as he could. He could never have her. Never tell her his true feelings.

"I'm no good without you." She responded.

He closed his eyes, knowing she had won. He was nothing without her.

The searing fusion of lips and tongues that followed sealed their fate. She pulled him down into her chair so that he straddled it. She could feel his need. She tore at the trouser buttons that kept her from caressing it. Her fingers were nimble. He caught his breath and shivered as she freed him. He pushed up the skirt and pushed aside her chemise and under drawers.

"Do you want this?" He asked, voice enflamed, bleeding love. "Do you want me, Mary?" Using her name deliberately. This first time having sex knowing her identity. He needed to know she understood.

"Yes. Yes." She met his hard gaze. "Matthew, please." And she plunged his hardened member into her. Ragged with breath, grunting with equal craving, "More than anything."

His own fingers caressed her breasts. He felt them under the silky blouse. There had been no time to undress. She arched her back and he pushed down, colliding their bodies together. He pulled her face up to meet his, as his fingers tore into her hair and his breath was hot upon her cheek. His tongue danced inside her mouth. Side to side. Top and bottom.

His actions became uncontrollable as both bucked and jerked, challenging each other to higher ands higher climaxes. They knew each other's bodies so well. What gave the most pleasure. What place made her wet. What position made him grunt and shiver in satisfaction.

Both were panting at the end. Languid and sweating, Matthew fell against her. His spasmodic peaks subsiding. Her crests descending.

"Lady Mary Crawley, what am I doing with you?" He said, against her ear. "I am completely in love with you."

She placed his head in the crook of her shoulder. "I don't ask any more than this."

But he would not accept that. He eased himself away from her. Turned to let her affix her clothing while he re buttoned the trousers. Turned and kneeled.

"We need to do this properly if we are to do this at all. Will you marry me?" His smile crooked, cheeks aflame.

"Yes." She could not believe the word had escaped her lips. What would her father think? Her family? "Of course I will."

She did not care.

He lifted her up off the seated cushion and spun her around the room "What mad a pair we are!"

Their lips met in one more sweet kiss to seal their fate.

XX

 _Tell me what you think! Should they marry under these circumstances? Is it doomed?_

 _You know when the story starts to take on a life of its own… well this one just did that. I wasn't at all intending to write that ending….but here it is. Of course reality will set in soon enough. The dark past will be resurrected, causing Matthew to be plunged into a despair even Mary fears he cannot crawl out of._


	5. Ch 5: Je ne suis pas sûr de rien

**Paris - Late July 1919**

He kissed her pulse point. Felt the beat of her with his lips. He gripped her slender wrist and kissed it again.

"You mentioned a wife." She said. Ravishing him with her eyes. She knew all of him. He lay beside her naked, except for the sheet wrapped around his ankles.

"Did I?" He said, sliding his tongue along the space between her thumb and palm. She shivered. "How careless of me." He lingered, kissing the flesh of the inner palm.

Her laugh was throaty, her mood seductive. She arched her back as his lips made their way towards her neckline. She felt heat as he breathed in and out against her skin. His mouth was cool.

"Oh Mr. Crawley you must think me out of all propriety to accept such an answer." She gasped as his tongue reached her left nipple and felt the gentle tugging sensation of his lips as he drew it into his mouth.

He left off his activity just long enough say, "Mrs. Crawley I hope to leave you without any respectability all night long."

Mary then let out a squeal of delight as Matthew grasped her back and dropped them both down onto the coverlets where he started to tickle her entire torso with quick kisses.

The _Certificat de Mariage_ drifted to the floor on the breeze of their bodies. It was less than an hour ago they signed it. Matthew's knowledge of French legalities had come in handy at the mairie. The British consulate had guided them in the intricacies of a foreign marriage. Their passports and documents checked, they arrived at the town hall where some friendly locals stood in as witnesses. A _traducteur assermente_ was not needed as both were fluent in the language. The exchange of vows had been in French

 _Moi, Matthew, je te prends Mary, pour épouse  
_ _Pour le meilleur ou pour le pire,  
_ _Dans la richesse et dans la pauvreté,  
_ _Dans la maladie et dans la santé,  
_ _Et je promets de t'aimer et de te chérir,  
_ _Jusqu'à ce que la mort nous sépare,_

 _Moi, Mary, je te prends Matthew, pour époux  
_ _Pour le meilleur ou pour le pire,  
_ _Dans la richesse et dans la pauvreté,  
_ _Dans la maladie et dans la santé,  
_ _Et je promets de t'aimer et de te chérir,  
J_ _usqu'à ce que la mort nous sépare,_

Mary perceived a twitch on Matthew's cheek. He wiped a tear away from his face. His lip was trembling as she spoke her words.

This was an outrageous act. But their fierce love had demanded it. Explanations to be made later.

 **Downton Abbey -early July 1919**

Mary had not seen Matthew since leaving Manchester. She realized that the job of sorting all of Isobel Crawley's belongings was a task she could not undertake by herself. She informed him that she intended to ask Anna to come and help.

"I'll see you to the train station." He had walked with her and kissed her good-bye. In the intervening days she had heard nothing from him. Her mother had waylaid Mary's attempt to return to Manchester, saying that Anna was head house parlor maid in addition to her duties as Mary's lady's maid and that she was needed at Downton. Then, a few days later she walked across the second story landing she heard the ring at the front door.

Carson opened the door. Matthew entered. Clearly agitated, he paced the around the saloon. Mary continued to stand on the second floor landing. Watching him.

Matthew tried to make the effort to get his emotions under control. It was as if he only then realized how he appeared to others. He had looked down at his shoes, felt his beard, and grimaced with a touch of embarrassment as Carson approached.

"Ah Carson." Matthew said. "I think I'd better attend to some ablutions before being presented to the family. I left in rather a rush." He put his fingers through his hair. "Could….could someone take my bag upstairs."

"Yes." Carson sonorous tone belied his barely concealed disdain. "I will have James attend to your needs. You do not have a valet, correct?"

"No." Matthew sighed. He did not need Carson's affectations of class right now. But he had vowed on the walk from the train station to not be provoked. He was here to start making an effort to get along. He had promised Mary he'd do so. "I do not. I've been living on my own and had no need while abroad."

With a sniff, Carson walked away.

His attempt at neutral politeness did not last long. He started pacing again. His nerves were shot. He had not slept well since returning from France. From Mary's arms.

Matthew stood alone. Mary took advantage of Carson's disappearance and walked down the stairs. Matthew, seeing her, rushed over. Said he had to return to France. Back to Paris.

He was agitated. She knew he held secrets. He had discovered something about his family and hers. About this past curse he talked about.

But Matthew wasn't ready to reveal it yet to her. He needed more information he said.

He was, however, ready to get on with the promises they had made to each other.

Was she?

"I don't like ultimatums." Mary had responded taking in his disheveled, unshaven appearance, and with his displeasure barely under control. Mary did not know what to make of him.

The life seemed to ebb from him. He didn't want to fight.

"I'm no good for you Mary. I can't be what your family wants." His shoulders sagged, his eyes deep sunk and tired.

"You should have more faith." She had no idea what had happened after she left him in Manchester.

"I should not have asked you to marry me. Let's just forget it." Coming out in a rush, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

"Why did you?" Mary felt as if the earth was about to give way under her feet.

"I was doing what I thought was right. After …. After our encounters in Paris. It seemed the proper thing to do." His mouth twisted into a tightly pursed expression.

"And are you always a creature of duty?" Mary retorted.

"Obviously not." He scoffed. "I am guilty of many transgressions." He would not look her in the eyes though. He kept his gaze over her left shoulder.

"Maybe you're not the man I thought you were." She pushed back.

"I am most probably not. You deserve so much better." His glazed eyes should have been her clue to give a little on this point.

But that was not her nature.

She refused to relent even a bit. "I deserve some answers. What's gotten into you? Why won't you fight for us?"

"I…." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I …can't." His words barely spoken.

"Then I guess we have nothing more to say to one another." She brushed an imaginary strand of hair away from her face. And with what seemed like the weight of the world on her shoulders, she walked away from him.

Matthew started to walk after her, but just then Robert appeared. "Oh Matthew. Good you're here. Come into the library." And without waiting for Matthew's response, he turned. With a resigned sigh Matthew followed.

Mary returned to her room, agitated and shaking. But with the determination that she would not go down with this ship without a fight.

XX

The dinner guests arrived. George Murray, surprised as anyone that he had been invited to dinner by the Earl of Grantham, took his seat. Gazing around the room, he found his explanation. Matthew Crawley had arrived back, still looking ill at ease but at least properly dressed, and was seated opposite.

Robert entered the room with his mother, the dowager countess. He saw her to her seat and then knelt down to Murray on way to take his own seat, asking if he had brought all the papers for Mr. Crawley to sign.

"Yes. Lord Grantham. I have them in my briefcase."

"Good. Let's get all this over with after our sherry. He might slip our hook again and I need this succession formalized." He passed Murray on and took the middle left seat.

Matthew stood up as Mary entered the room. He sat back down when she did not meet his gaze.

Why should she? He groused to himself. You're a bastard for doing what you did to her earlier. He threw his napkin into his lap. He just wanted this dinner over with, the papers Robert insisted upon signed, and then to leave. There was so much still to be done. He had found some of the missing pieces of information he needed to construct a theory of why his father committed suicide. In rummaging around the desk in his father's library he found letters from a solicitor in Leeds. Something about a potential legal suit Reginald Crawley wanted to bring against a perpetrator named only "Party A" in the carefully worded response.

There had also been other letters. Reginald had written to a private investigator about doing some background work on this mysterious "Party A." The response indicated that Charles Lovell, Inqiring Agent, would be willing to take on the case.

But there the trail had ended. His father seemed to have put any more incriminating letters or evidence in another location.

Matthew had called to see if Gerald Jones, solicitor at large in Leeds was still practicing. He was, but currently out of the country. Matthew sighed and had hung up the phone. The P.I. was also elusive. But he would not let the trail fade, so when the telephone had rung again he rushed over. But it had been Cousin Robert. Some legal papers, having to do with the estate inheritance, had to be signed. Matthew had agreed to return to Downton to sign them. And yes, yes he understood he needed evening dress. Rolling his eyes, he hung up the phone.

He tossed a decorative pillow on the floor and threw himself into a chair in his mother's morning room. Agitated, he strummed his lip with his finger. A few days in England on his hand with nothing to do. The moving and storage company he scheduled was next week. The estate agent was still making his asking price estimates. Or did Mr. Crawley want to let the property instead? Matthew had put off making that decision.

He wanted to get on with things. Or to escape it all entirely. Disappear back to Paris. He really did need to get to Paris. To finish the reports for the British peace delegation.

Reluctantly he made a move to pack what was needed for the trip to Downton. At least he could see Mary. But even that, now that she was gone from his presence, seemed elusive to Matthew. Could he really make her happy? Or was he fooling himself. He should withdraw his proposal of marriage. For her own good.

So with great sadness, he left on the York train. And found himself here. At this table, feeling a fraud for accepting Robert's hospitality even as he investigated past indiscretions of the Crawley clan. Sensing Mary's frustration with him. He self-righteously asserting he was doing what he felt was best for her, even as he left her in the dark as to his reasoning.

Cora entered on the arm of the other guest. A younger man, only slightly older than Matthew himself. A visiting duke it turned out. Much to Matthew's chagrin Thomas Ransome, Duke of Eastmoor was seated next to Mary on Robert's suggestion.

"Let the two of you get to know each other." He had said, in that rather stuffy, overly friendly voice Matthew had learned was Robert's habit with people he wanted something from.

"I should very much like getting to know Lady Mary." And he slid in the chair with ease. Mary nodded politely. She glanced over at Matthew, who looked as if he'd rather be in the ninth circle of hell rather than here.

Serves him right, she thought. She had put herself at risk of scandal because of him. In Paris. In Manchester. Of course she had done so of her own free will. But with the unspoken pact that they were in this relationship together. How dare he renege?

Perhaps he was right. They hardly knew each other. They had been two lonely souls finding solace in the other's body, in the other's lips and mouths, in the connection of limbs and fingers. His touch excited places in her that Mary never knew existed. He had ravished her. She had let him. Even now her body betrayed her, and she felt the need for him to satiate her desire.

He was across the table from her. But he might as well have been on the moon. She could not reach him. He had retreated into himself. Once or twice, in France, she had seen this behavior. His moods shifted dark and light.

She needed to shake him out of it.

He had helped her find her footing again, after the divorce and feeling at odds with the world that confined her. Mary's life, she knew, was inextricably linked to Downton. She could make it a prison. Limiting and repressing her. Or an anchor. Growing old and letting life pass her by. Or, she had concluded on the trip back home after Matthew's surprising proposal of marriage, she could truly make Downton her home. That she, and Matthew…that they could make it work. That both would throw themselves into securing Downton's future.

Even if the beneficiaries would not be their own children.

But not yet. Matthew was not ready. He was still at loose ends with life. With Downton. Missing pieces of a puzzle kept him from settling down. She had tried to calm herself after their argument of the morning. She was no longer angry at him. Or his notion of calling off their marriage. She knew his doubts did not lie with her, with their love. It lay within himself. But he was pushing her away.

Well, she slyly smirked to herself, that could be dealt with right now. And she knew just how to do it.

"Your grace," Mary said, turning to the Duke, "am I remembering correctly that your family runs the Eastmoor Foxhounds? I seem to recall a rather marvelous hunt when I was a child."

"Yes, Lady Mary. That would have been under my father's guidance. I'm hoping to restore the traditions. Now that the war is over and the horses no longer requisitioned for overseas service."

"That would be lovely. We've not had a good hunt for years. I long to get out and feel once again the power of a thoroughbred underneath me." Her voice was laced with seductive intent.

The duke was impressed.

Matthew was slack jawed. He dropped his knife. The clatter reverberated around the room, only causing more attention to be paid to her words. To their effect.

He grimaced as everyone turned to look at him.

A footman rushed in to grab the offending cutlery.

Mary's eyes seemed to roam at random around the table. Until they fell on Matthew. "I suppose you are more interested in books than country sport."

"I probably am. My unhealthy pallor must give me away." His eyes belied his sarcasm. They were contemptuous.

"It is unusual among our kind of people to squirrel themselves away in libraries, squinting over documents, and writing for one's own amusement." Her affected tone was unmistakable.

Matthew's mouth opened and closed again. He shook his head slightly. "Some of us have to make a living."

"Oh discussing money now are we?" She turned her eyes disdainfully back to the duke as if to say, what does one expect from our middle class relations.

The Duke of Eastmoor was growing more interested in this newly divorced woman. His own family had doubted she was a candidate to be Duchess. They had tried to stop him from this visit. Now he was more than happy he had accepted. He was finding this all most amusing.

"I must admit I did some reading recently myself." Mary continued. "I was studying the story of Andromeda. Do you know it?" She turned and bat her eyes at the duke.

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What was Mary playing at?

"I believe I am…" but before the duke could say anything Mary said, "She was chained naked to a rock on the coast of her homeland."

"Really? Mary, we'll all need our smelling salts in a minute." Violet tried to cover up their joint embarrassment at Mary's innuendo.

But then Matthew intervened. "In actuality she was sacrificed by her father, King Cepheus, to a hideous sea monster. To save their country from ravaging storms." Matthew looked for the first time that dinner directly in Mary's eyes. "It's a parable against the dangers of misfortune."

"But the sea monster did not get her, did he?" she rejoined. Their eyes remained transfixed upon each other.

"No" Matthew had to admit. "She was rescued by Perseus. Son of a god. Though I suppose that is more fitting considering the woman's aristocratic bent." Matthew rather sourly and sarcastically concluded.

Mary stared daggers at him. But gritted her teeth. If her plan was to work, she had to maintain her act of indifference.

"As I see it, some women need that. I don't need rescuing." Mary said directing her answer to Matthew. But looking to the duke. "I live my life the way I want. What do you think?"

Thomas Ransome thought he had never seen a more beautiful, engaging woman. "I hardly know what to think Lady Mary. Perhaps you should show me this story. Is it in your library?"

"I will find it after dinner. We can have a tête-à-tête in the corner shall we?' She gave a wicked smile.

At the other side of the table, Matthew gripped his fork and stabbed haphazardly at his vegetables. He stewed like that for the rest of the dinner, barely mumbling an acknowledgement to Edith's attempts at conversation.

As he walked into the music room after an awkward cigars and sherry session with Robert, Murray, and the duke, he was raging with jealousy. Ransome effused to Robert about the charms of his daughter. Robert practically glowed with the expectation of a marriage proposal that would make his daughter a duchess. Murray waited patiently for this all to be over so he could get his papers signed and go home to a good book.

Matthew gulped down his sherry, choking with repugnance towards this gasbag of a peer.

Matthew had an inkling he knew Mary's game. He was quite sure she was doing what she did on purpose. To spur him to action. To show that he did care. He did care for her. He did love her. He did want to marry her. And that if he was not serious in that claim, he could very easily lose her to another. Robert was determined to find a position for Mary in society.

The sea monster was not to get her, Matthew concluded. Mary was doing her own rescuing. And it made him only love and admire her more. She really was damnably clever.

He sidled up to Mary who had already begun to make rather reluctant steps towards the Duke of Eastmoor.

"I see what you're doing." He said to her, getting her into a corner. "And I am suitably chastised."

She smiled.

"You can continue your Greek mythology lesson with His Grace..." Matthew's voice was buttery soft. "Or my offer still stands to go back to Paris."

She leaned into his ear, her hot breath making him shiver. "Where's my ticket?"

And as his eyes casually drifted around the room to see if anyone was looking, his lips grazed hers. "Let's get out of here."

XX

 **Paris**

"My father is going to be outraged, you know." Mary said as Matthew's hands wandered without discretion along the soft lines of her inner thighs. She whimpered, melted her body next to his, and was properly distracted for a while as Matthew's nimble fingers brought her to arousal.

"He will adjust." Matthew finally said, after satisfying Mary's immediate need to her enormous satisfaction. "He will have to."

"What about your investigations?" Matthew had confided to Mary what he had found out about his father contacting solicitors and private investigators. "Are you going to go ahead?"

"Yes." He said confidently. "I do. I need to." And he turned her body to face his own. "I need to do this or it will eat at me. We won't have a proper start in life together until I get to the bottom of this mystery. I want to do the right thing by your father. But I can't be a good heir, a good son-in-law even, until I know what happened."

Mary nodded. Leaned her head into his chest. Felt the hair tickle her cheek. Heard his heart beating fast, anticipating her response. "I understand. We will uncover it together. I want to help."

Matthew sighed in utter contentment. He drew her close as his arms encircled her slim body. "I need you. I can't do this alone anymore. I grow more in love with you every day."

Mary looked down at her simple gold band that symbolized eternal love. "I never believed love was necessary in a marriage." She kissed him. "Now I cannot ever think to live without it."

They stayed entangled in each other throughout the dark hours of the early morning.

The cold light of day would come soon enough.

 _XX_

 _So..are our lovers making the right decision? What do you think the reaction will be back at Downton? Love reading your thoughts!_

 _And yes..careful viewers of Hilde will realize I used a line or two of dialogue. No plagiarism intended...just a love of those words._


	6. Ch 6: Comme c'est extraordinaire

_The damp chill of the morning suited Matthew's mood. He sat in the window seat of his small chambre d'hôtel pas cher. Parisians were late sleepers on a Sunday, so only a few colporteurs plied the streets. Still in evening wear English toffs furtively snuck away from late rendezvous' with courtesans. And he saw ragged men, to his eyes obvious poilu, literally translated hairy one, it was a term picked up in the trenches for French infantrymen. They hovered in doorways in ill-fitting donated Croix-Rouge française suits, shivering from hunger, and seeking shelter from the light mist that fell._

 _He had been lucky to fall into a good relationship with the owner of the small hotel/café. She had given him a good long term rate and he had stayed in the room for the past eight months ever since he was transferred to aid the British delegation at the Paris Peace Conference. He spent the last weeks of his enlistment writing out reports in French and German for the Versailles settlement along the Alsace-Lorraine corridor._

 _While he kept his own counsel towards the "make the Huns pay til the pips squeak" philosophy present among Lloyd George and Clemenceau, the translating and research had gotten him through the days and weeks that followed Lavinia's death._

 _He never let himself think about it._

 _Or the men he had killed in combat. The men under his command who had died because of his orders._

 _Nor Isobel's death the year previous._

 _And now his father's suicide._

 _He never let himself think too much about it all._

 _Matthew's eyes fell on Mary. She was still asleep. In his bed. In the bed they had shared as anonymous lovers. And now as husband and wife._

 _How extraordinary._

 _She stirred. The light coverlet came off her body as she straightened up. Blinking sleepily, she rubbed her left eye. With the right, she saw him sitting the alcove. As most mornings. He never slept long. His back bothered him more than he let on and tossed and turned much of the night, quietly grunting in pain. He arrived late to bed, and always up before her. His routine had at first disconcerted her. Would he think her idle? Demanding of breakfast in bed? She knew this marriage was to be an adjustment from her own routine. And it would not always be an easy one. She did like her luxuries._

 _She sat up and faced him. His eyes filled with a distant sadness she only was beginning to plumb._

 _Without words she slid her legs off the bed, reached out her arms, and enwrapped him in an embrace. He melted into her warmth. Arms around her, head on her breast, he wept and felt released from the prison of his own demons._

 _Later they sat downstairs in the café. The young widowed owner extended her congratulations to the newly married couple. She had a tremendous affection for Matthew. He worked often at the corner table, typewriter clicking, and she had provided endless cups of café crèmes to keep him nourished along with the occasional croissant or baguette._

 _Mary took a sip. "You look better." She looked at Matthew incisively. He had been so pale that morning. She feared never being able to reach his sadness._

 _He popped part of his croissant in his mouth. "I am." He had a shower, shave, and put on the new suit that he and Mary had chosen at Le Bon Marché. He had joked at the time that he doubted Mary had ever walked into a department store before in her life. She had countered she had mostly certainly been in Selfridge's in London. He smirked and responded but only to buy a gift for your lady's maid. Mary could only return a coy smile._

 _But the end result, in Mary's opinion, looked marvelous on him. A natural linen notched lapel suit with vest and tie, Matthew undid the tie a bit in the July heat and looked over his iced coffee._

 _"I should say thanks you to, I am." He said and moved his hand across to table to take her white gloved one into his own. They were to walk along the Seine and to Notre Dame Cathedral later. Then maybe along the left bank and a jazz club Matthew had heard about from one of the other diplomats at the peace conference._

 _He desperately wanted to take Mary dancing._

 _But first he needed to get something off his chest._

" _I don't think I ever let myself dwell on my recent past. But when I did, this morning I realized suddenly I had never been there when any of my loved ones had died. The only deaths I've ever witnessed were the men I either killed, or were killed in front of me in bloody, mangled bodies that no longer looked even human once the howitzers did their job." He spat out the words surprising even himself at the visceral images that came into his head to accompany his words. He took a moment then continued._

 _Mary had no words of easy words of consolation. She had seen the men in their anguished convalescence. Heard their screams in the night._

" _I was in hospital with Mother…" he closed his eyes to get through the next revelation. "I had a visit from a local agent de police to inform me of what happened." He shook his head. "Then Lavinia…" He felt the bile at the back of his throat. "She died at her father's house in London. I heard about it only from a telegram a couple days after it happened. I didn't even know… "_

 _Mary tried to squeeze his hand but he pulled away. "I didn't even know. You should know… when your wife dies…" He looked at Mary searchingly. "You should just bloody well know." His blue eyes ice cold in shame._

" _It's not your fault, you were with the army." Mary said her voice full determined practicality. "No one blames you for that. And you shouldn't blame yourself."_

 _He pulled himself back together. "You're right of course." He said. "It's just the two of them coming so close together. And then me not getting home to see my father. I had no idea he was so fragile." Matthew's fingers pulled through his hair. "No idea…"_

 _Suddenly a shaft of sunlight struck the gloom._

 _Mary turned and felt the welcoming heat. "Let's get out of here, shall we?" And she put her lace gloves into her left hand and pulled her seat back. She gave him a smile and a quirk of her eyebrows._

 _He returned her smile. "Let's." Matthew agreed, pulling his straw hat off the nearby rack. "Think we're going to be chasing the sun all day today."_

 _And they left the café with a wave to Marielle at the counter._

XX

 **Downton Abbey July 1919**  
"You've done what?" Robert's voice had taken on a combination of sheer apoplectic anger and total incredulity. It even cracked slightly at the last word.

Mary whispered " _Courage._ " to Matthew, whose lips twitched in bemusement.

He announced it again. "We were married in Paris last week." Calmly stated, he was still a bit giddy inside from what they had done. They had remained in the world of their own making. It had all seemed so right. After his stupid retraction of the proposal, Mary had sensibly shown him the error of his way by making him insensibly jealous with her coquettish behaviour with the duke. The wild runaway together, the voyage across the channel, and the quiet beauty of the marriage ceremony had solidified them into a team. She had overcome his anxieties. He had instilled in her the assurance of love.

They were sure of their future. It wasn't going to be easy. There would be arguments aplenty. They had already had a fair share on their honeymoon. But it was all a part of learning about each other.

"In Paris?" Cora said first. Then she gave Mary a pointed glare.

"But…." Robert was spluttering now. "…You've just met." He turned to Matthew. "You were just here for the first time last week."

Mary and Matthew exchanged furtive guilty glances. "Have to cop to that one…" Matthew thought.

"You've hardly had any time to know each other." Cora interjected.

Mary's face flushed red. Except for the intimate knowledge of every inch of his body. She started to respond but was interrupted by her beloved granny.

"I had thought our time was approaching disillusion. Perhaps, for our family, disillusion is truly upon us." She said with a nostalgic finality. "The war has changed the world as we understood it."

Matthew rocked on his heels. Mary was gripping his hand tight in frustration. He needed to say something.

"Forgive my possible discourtesy but the war, if anything, has made me consider time as something that is precious and finite. We have to grasp life and not deny love no matter how and when it is given." He said it through clenched teeth.

"What are you anyway?" Robert turned in complete exasperation towards Matthew. "One of these dreadful freethinkers?" Robert felt a migraine coming on. "We already have a socialist in the family now. So why not?" He threw his hands up in disgust. "But I won't have you manipulating Mary in such twaddle."

"Now hold on…" Mary said. "I have a say in my own life."

"Yes." Her father retorted. "And you made a beeline for the heir that's for sure. Is that the real reason for your divorce? Patrick was out so you get your hooks into the next one."

"Robert!" Cora burst out. "Mary is not to blame for the failure of her marriage."

Her husband's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry for that. But you left me high and dry with the Duke of Eastmoor. He was already to talk…"

"You mean negotiate don't you?" Mary was volatile now. "Like a pig or cow at a country fair? How much will you give me for that daughter?"

"Calm down the two of you." Cora demanded. She put her hand in front to stop the earl from snapping again. "Robert. Don't you have some papers for Matthew to sign?" She gestured over and took Matthew's arm which was shaking in anger. She squeezed it to calm him down and said gently, "Go with the Earl, Matthew." And she guided the two men towards the library.

Matthew paused only to give Mary a despairing look. They were to be separated. None of this was going to plan. Not that they had a good plan to begin with.

They had not really come up with a cover story. Nothing they threw out as options to each other seemed plausible. They had spent most of the time of the ferry return trip suggesting things. Matthew was bringing all his belongings with him so that had taken up their last day in Paris. Mary remained in their hotel suite while a couple of other tenants from Marielle's helped Matthew pack the car which he was also taking with him to England. Matthew had wanted to invent some sort of tale of a whirlwind love at first sight kind of thing.

"Lie outright?" Mary said. "To my parents?" She gave a deep breath.

"Is it all really a lie?" Matthew had countered. They were sitting over tepid tea on a cramped bench, inside the ferry and away from the channel wind and choppy sea.

Mary put her hand up to her eye, shading it from the glare of the sun on the paneled glass. "Well…." She shrugged. "I mean I can hardly tell them we met and within five minutes I was ripping your clothes off."

Matthew chortled, his sea blue eyes twinkling. "No." He kissed her. "I suppose not. But it was most enjoyable."

"I wish I had fallen in love at first sight." She kept her cheek next to his.

"What were you then?" He asked tentatively. Still not sure himself what drew her to him.

"I was intrigued by you."

He furrowed his brow. "Intrigued?" His lips puckered in thought.

"You had a look about you. So melancholy. I felt a connection. Because I felt the same." She touched his cheek. "I thought, maybe, here's someone who understood."

Matthew nodded. "It was as if I did not even have to say anything. I knew you. As if our souls were already linked." He shook his head in bewilderment. "Sounds like something out of a nineteenth century gothic novel I know, but it's true. I knew you felt the same."

"So what are we to do?" She turned back to look at the channel coast of Dover. It was coming up and she could see the white chalk cliffs.

"I think it best if we say we were acting on impulse. That we intend to stay married and make it work. Your father will get over any frustrations soon enough."

Mary's head bowed. "You're his heir. He'll soon see you as the son he never had. I will bear the brunt of his long term disappointment."

Matthew hated to see her so fatalistic. "You don't mean that."

She shrugged. "You're probably right. I'm never down for long. It's a trait that runs strong in all the Crawley women."

"That's because you have to put up with so many wrongheaded Crawley men." Matthew rejoined. They were about to dock. They started towards the way out.

So here they were. At Downton. Facing the music.

Matthew followed Robert into the smaller alcove of the library. Mary remained with her mother. It was just the Crawley women, she thought. Now comes the real test.

"Mary." Cora almost immediately started in. "I want the truth to the question I'm about to pose. When did you first meet Matthew Crawley?"

Her daughter leveled a direct gaze. There was no point in prevarication. "Last month. When you and I were to go to the _House of Patou_ for fittings."

"You said were taken with a sudden headache and returned to your hotel room."

Mary caught her mother's tone but resisted any intonation of contempt in her own. She deserved her mother's ire. Now it was time to set it straight.

"I lied." She kept her voice flat.

"And where were you really?" Cora took the seat next to Violet. So Mary turned to both of them.

"I'm not sure you want to know the answer to that." She bit her lip slightly.

"Sometimes we must let the blow fall by degrees." Violet said. "Tell us in your own time."

Mary took a deep breath. "I was walking to Madame Patou's. Matthew bumped into me. We had some coffee."

Her mother gave a dissatisfied sigh. She kept her eyes on Mary.

Mary squared her shoulders. She was not ashamed of her actions. "I returned with him to his rooms. He took me to bed. I became his lover and now I am his wife."

Cora's eyes rounded wide. "What? Do you realize if this gets out in society you'll be the subject of vile gossip and crude suggestion by all of London?"

"Mama really. The world has changed since your time. No one really cares about such things now."

"It's not changed that much. You will find out. Especially for you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're the daughter of the Earl of Grantham. You are supposed to set a proper example."

"And marry the Duke of Eastmoor so you can tuck me away in the peaks and congratulate yourself on making me a good match." Mary desperately needed her mother to understand. "I know you meant well. I know you love me. But I am not capable of forty years of boredom and duty with a man I would never love."

"And you love Matthew? A man you barely know? A man you just met? Isn't this just like Tony? Mary I wash my hands of you if this is some kind of repeat of that childish rebellion."

"You can think me a lost cause, Mama. But I do love Matthew. I love him far more than I can explain to you." She leaned down in front of her mother. Took her hands. "I'm not sure I understand it all myself. But it's all true."

Cora gripped Mary's hands tight. "How can I believe it? It's so unlike you."

Then Violet finally broke her silence.

"Mary and I are alike. Neither of us are natural romantics. But even I concede that the heart does not exist solely for the purpose of pumping blood." Violet turned to Cora. "You must have seen what I saw when they walked in."

Cora conceded. "They did look very natural together."

Mary leaned over and hugged her grandmother. "Thank you Granny."

Violet nodded. "You've taken a very big step, my dear. I hope you and Matthew have many years of happiness together."

Cora then added to Mary's great relief. "We will not disclose all of that information to your father. We'll keep those pieces of the puzzle missing for right now."

Then all three were stunned into silence as raised voices were to be heard through the paneled walls of the music room. Matthew's strident declaration that he "would never sign such a legal manipulation" and that Robert could "think what he bloody well liked" was followed by a slammed door.

Mary could only guess at what drove Matthew to such a height of anger. He returned to the music room.

"Mary I can't stay here any longer. I don't believe your father and I will ever come to terms. He's completely without any faith in me. And I …. Until I know what went on in the past, perhaps he's right to." He then seemed to realize the other women were in the room.

He took her aside to a quiet corner. "I'm going back to Manchester. But you can stay here. Live at home at least until all this is sorted out. Maybe it would be best..."

Mary stared at him. Astounded at his suggesting it. "Absolutely not."

"Are you sure?" He trembled and she caught him by the elbows. They gripped each other's forearms.

"Whither thou goest." Mary replied, calm and assured she was doing the right thing.

Matthew breathed in her scent to calm his nerves. He bowed his head on her forehead.

"Besides, you tried to get rid of me once before and remember how that turned out?" Mary said.

"I do." Matthew acknowledged. "I do indeed."

XX

 _The keys struck the paper 'clack clack.' Then the ping and the zip as he pushed the carriage back to the starting position. Then it started all over again…. Clack clack..click… clunk (shift key)…clack… ziiiip …_

 _The horrible monotony of it all drove Mary mad. The cramped Paris flat did nothing to improve her mood. They had been married on Saturday. By Monday she suggested returning to the Hotel Royale for the last days of their honeymoon. He had baulked, saying he had a bit of work to catch up on first._

 _So here they were, Tuesday afternoon. And to Mary's point of view no further along than they were the previous day._

" _Matthew. When will this be at an end? We've been inside all day." She grumbled._

" _What am I supposed to do Mary? These last reports are to be in before we return to England." Matthew's head came up from his typewriter only briefly._

" _Isn't that what clerks are for?" Mary responded with exasperation. "I remember a maid of ours left to work in a telephone company with her typewriter in hand."_

" _Usually it is. But they're being run off their feet with other work. I told Annie that I would finish up my own report on the territorial settlement of Alsace-Lorraine. It is my research." Matthew sipped the coffee that had grown cold in his concentration. "Besides, I am late as it is. Going to Downton with you put me quite behind in my work."_

 _He looked at her slyly. "As did our wedding night."_

" _And into the next morning…" She naughtily reminded him._

 _He smiled a wickedly pleased smile, but bent his head back down over his paper. …'click…ziiiip….clack clack….'_

 _She put down the novel she had tried twelve times to restart. "I simply cannot abide that noise anymore."_

" _Well you can always leave." He said, tired and more than a bit cheesed off at Mary's lack of understanding._

" _Maybe I will." And she got up and started to pack a bag. "I'll be at the Hotel. You can come when you've finished."_

 _He couldn't let that one go. He responded with expert dryness, "that's how it usually works."_

 _Mary caught the drift of the entendre and curled an eyebrow. "But it's so much more enjoyable when two are involved." And she left him to his work._

 _Mary's hotel room beckoned. Matthew's concentration was shot. He gave up and left the reports until later._

 _He walked swiftly over to the Hotel Royale. He asked at the desk for the room of his wife, Lady Mary Crawley. The assistant gave him a key and guided him to Chambre Lune de Miel with a smile and a quick wink._

 _Matthew took the stairs up to the honeymoon suite Mary had chosen. Secluded at the back of the hotel, it was luxuriously appointed with antique prints, carved boiseries, and elaborate marquetry on the seats and tables of the furniture. The bed was large, covered with pillows and a silk duvet. Mary was just coming out of the en suite bath._

 _She was wearing a pastel colored diaphanous chemise, rubbing her hair dry. She turned at the sound of the closing click of the door. And smiled._

 _Matthew rushed over to her. The silk slipped beneath his fingers. It whispered as he swished it up and over Mary's head. He buried his head in the nape of her neck and began to place long, lingering kisses all along her shoulder._

" _That's more like it." Mary's voice vibrated with need. "Take me to bed."_

 _And he lifted her up into his arms, moved swiftly, and placed her within the center of the plush bedding. Their bodies curved together as spoons. He gripped her from behind and swept his hands along her torso. Feeling her breasts. Taking each one into his fingertips in turn. His grip was strong, pinching and made her whimper in anticipation of his next action._

 _Matthew lifted her up only to shed his own clothing. Then fell back into the depths of the silken duvet. She lay horizontal in the bed, legs spread slightly apart. Their eyes met briefly. Hers open. His hooded with desire. He brushed her hair back against her skull. She kissed him._

 _Would they ever get enough of each other? The desire he saw in her eyes, equaled his own. The exquisite need to touch, to feel, to cling to each other in sweet anticipation overwhelmed him._

 _She flamed and he flickered. He pulled her close once again. Matthew did not need any more invitation. His head went down onto her abdomen, quick licks and laps within her bellybutton making her skin goose pimple. He worked his way down and across her flat stomach and curved hipbones. Soft licking sounds against her skin, his fingers kneading her rounded rear as he lifted her up to meet his tongue. He flicked it in and around her inner thighs. She spasmed and expelled a low moan. He continued with a slow sense of self-indulgence._

 _This was what she wanted. Slow. Fractional. The intensity mounting in small increments. The blotting out of all other sensations and this…this shattering experience of tongue, lips, and teeth. Small bites followed by the heat of his breath._

 _Her taste drove him wild. He wanted to go faster. But tonight, right now, was for her. Her pleasure. The friction his tongue made against her most sensitive spot made her thighs tighten against his skull. He felt the pressure but continued his exertions. Moistened his lips again… flicked it there…. And there…. She jerked helplessly. Grunting and gripping the duvet with both of her hands. Her head lolled side to side._

 _She was blissfully helpless. The intoxication that he made her feel this good drove him to complete her satisfaction. He lifted up to shift his head to get a better angle. A desperate whimper escaped her open mouth, fearing he was done._

" _Shh…" He reassured. "I'm not done by a long way." He hooked her feet around his shoulders._

 _Her head fell back against the pillow, a wisp of a smile crossing her face. "Good."_

 _He blotted everything else out but the wondrous sounds of her pleasure. Her back arched as his tongue went in again. Her toes curled as he found the spot. Skimming his lips where she wanted it most. He circled, stroked some more. Sensations flooded in. Tight. Overpowering. As her release was rising within, he put more pressure on the spot. Her breaths were now shallow. Her hips jerked, and undulations of bliss washed over her body, building until she felt an indescribable sense of uncontrolled pleasure. The warmth flooded her body, it made her dizzy and disoriented. She bucked against the sheets as his tongue without relenting plummeted her depths._

 _Gasping in climax, sweaty with the heat of her exertions, still feeling residual tremors of agonizing desire, her body finally went blissfully limp. He kissed her taste one last time, and moved so that he could see her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes, and her hair splayed across the pillowcase in abandonment._

 _She was so very beautiful. He lay down next to her, still tenderly touching her stomach and trailing kisses down her arm. He pulled her hair back so that her head met his own ready lips. Soft grunts of satisfaction were his reward._

 _But Mary was not done. She hooked her arms around his body so that he was forced to move atop her. She could feel his hardness. She wanted it in her. She wanted him satisfied. He moved against her and eased in, moaning as he held himself above her. He filled her and she tightened her thighs making his arousal more intense. He leaned forward and became to thrust hard. Their fingers entwined as his rocking crashed against her. His breaths were ragged, audible. He gasped and lurched forward as his release came in surges of peaks and valleys._

 _Damp and hot, he rolled against her once more._

 _They spooned together, neither wanting to move._

XX

 _Hope you liked it! Please tell me your thoughts and observations_.


	7. Ch 7:Til Chaque Souffle Quitte Mon Corps

_Til Chaque Souffle Quitte mon Corps_

 **Previously:**

Mary could only guess at what drove Matthew to such a height of anger. He returned to the music room.

"Mary I can't stay here any longer. I don't believe your father and I will ever come to terms. He's completely without any faith in me. And I …. Until I know what went on in the past, perhaps he's right to." He then seemed to realize the other women were in the room.

He took her aside to a quiet corner. "I'm going back to Manchester. But you can stay here. Live at home at least until all this is sorted out. Maybe it would be best..."

Mary stared at him. Astounded at his suggesting it. "Absolutely not."

"Are you sure?" He trembled and she caught him by the elbows. They gripped each other's forearms.

"Whither thou goest." Mary replied, calm and assured she was doing the right thing.

XX

 **Downton Abbey July 1919**

In the end she convinced him not to return to Manchester. They should just stay here. She'd talk to her father. Maybe he was overreacting. She had just assuaged her mother and granny. He could do the same for his father-in-law. Papa's bark is worse than his bite.

"Besides" she said. "I was looking forward to you seeing my bedroom." And her eyebrows flashed up.

He sideways looked at his beautiful bride. "Oh really?" He inadvertently licked his lips.

"Yes my darling." She had maneuvered him into a window alcove, away from the family's ears. "What is the matter anyway?"

Only temporarily distracted, his thoughts turned back to the conversation in the library. Matthew sounded off, "Your father is impossible. He seems to believe I am some sort of wastrel who will ruin the estate as soon as he's cold in the grave." He shook his head in astonishment.

"Nonsense." She said sensibly. "You just need to prove him otherwise. We'll work on the rest of your wardrobe for starters."

Matthew rolled his eyes and scoffed. "What I am wearing should not reflect my ability to run an estate."

"You've not been around our lot." Mary quipped. "It means everything."

Robert had returned to the room just in time to see them. Mary caressed Matthew's cheek. He harrumphed and sat down next to Cora and began to mutter under his breath.

Matthew knew when he was being beguiled. His anger dissipated. "You are very good for me you know."

She knew. "I just want to maintain family harmony."

Matthew chuckled. "You're sure it's not because you don't want to go back to a house with a rising damp and no servants or hot meals?"

"Absolutely not." She smirked and looked aghast. "The Parisian walk up with no bath or kitchen was my ideal. I am the essence of resilience."

He knew when he was beaten. "Very well." His voice dropped an octave. "I will make more of an effort with your father." He lowered his face towards her ear. His seductive tone more of a whispered plea, "if my reward awaits up the stairs."

"Careful," she charmed. "I might want you to carry me up naked."

"I might just do it." He parried back.

Her hungry gaze knew the truth of his response.

He would never say no to her.

XX

Paris: _**La Rive Gauche. Night.**_

 _Matthew was sure he heard her correctly._

 _The whispered entreaty, scorching her tongue as the words made their way to his ear._

 _Did she say it?_

 _Did she really ask for it?_

 _A sexual demand of such charged eroticism he was told by his betters would never slip from the mouth of a woman of her station. They were demure, sedate even. Decorous but empty vessels ready to bear children or passive, eroticize subjects who exist solely for their husband's pleasures. Virgins in the boudoir. Letting their husband and master rule the bed._

 _This was not Mary. She meant what she said. She wanted him._

 _She asked for it._

 _Demanded it._

 _Badly. Madly. Now._

 _He found himself hungrier than ever. He became a man possessed._

 _Was that even possible given what they've already done?_

 _Yet it was. Now that they were married, all things were possible._

 _Unlike the notion that marriage stifled one's sexual urges, he found it to be quite the opposite._

 _It opened them up to even more possibilities._

 _Not because she spoke a taboo word. Although that was part of it if he was completely honest with himself. It was the way she had said it. Sultry, licking her lips as she spoke it. Covetous eyes. Fierce and thirsty. Owning her need. It made him pant in anticipation._

 _No…that was not the only reason._

 _But that she had the confidence to speak claim on his body. Knowing that he'd more than meet her command._

 _They were equals. He may not be of her class. She was still high above him. She was stylish, always put together. Guarded and protective of her being, her identify, sharp and confident. He was, if not uncouth or loutish, impolitic and a bit rough. He had done his duty to king and country and looked where that got them all. He wanted time away. From the world he helped recreate._

 _He wanted to make it all right. But he could not. There was no bringing back the dead._

 _Mary cleared his head of all that. All the guilt. All the shame. She wouldn't let him wallow in the past._

 _She made his present the most important state of existence. No past. No future._

 _Just them._

 _In their sexuality, they found their balance._

 _She would make demands on him._

 _He would not hold back._

 _It only drove them on to further acts of recklessness._

 _Such as this night._

 _In a semi-darkened_ ruelle _along the Seine. The moonlight being their only shadowed light. Shafts of which sliced down between the brick awning of the alley. Her dress already mussed and slipping. Her body up against the wall where he had pushed it, in his haste to shove his tongue even deeper into her mouth. Ramming it in as she lapped his tongue with her own. Snaking around his mouth. Moaning that she needed more._

 _They had gotten drunk on wine and dance. The last night of their honeymoon was upon them. Real life beckoned and loomed across the channel._

 _This was to be their most audacious reward._

 _She wanted to do it here. Now._

 _Her word spoke of it._

" _Do I need to say it again?" Mary teased, pulling on his trousers, unbuttoning his crotch restraints._

 _He gave her what she wanted._

 _Matthew hiked her hard against the wall. She grunted in satisfaction. He tried to maintain his balance. He pushed the hem of her dress up. He approved of these new fashions. No more bulky layers or locked in corsets. This dress was silky, thin, inviting him in. In haste it got tangled in his fingers. He tore at the material and heard a slight rip. "Damn…" he whispered. But he kept going. Her tongue was deep down his throat, making him unable to speak any more. His lips, slick and hot, slipped around hers. Biting at the corners of her mouth. Nibbling and taking. His head dipped and he sucked and pulled on her lower lip._ _Mary's tongue escaped his mouth only to latch onto his cheek and neck. She felt his arousal, engorged and perfect, against her thighs._

 _Matthew's ears heard voices on the other side of the alley. Strolling along the Seine, other lovers spoke and laughed. He stopped, in case their groans were heard._

 _The unmistakable pulsating rhythm of making love._

 _And understood what they were doing._

 _What if they were caught? How would he ever explain this to her father?_

 _But they could not stop. His body was in agony._

 _She had wriggled his trousers down so that his shaft was exposed. He shoved her thighs apart and she fit herself inside his groin. She felt him take her inside. Taut with desire, longing, and need she felt only relief from the torture of not having him. Of wanting him more than she ever wanted anything in this life._

 _He grunted and threw himself against her harder and harder. She would be bruised after this. The wall was unforgiving._ _Her slim frame, hiked up and balanced only by his hands on her rear end, squeezing and pressing. Her legs dangled around his hips and gripped his backside tight as she struggled to push him further and further inside her._

 _His shaft reached the ridge of her most sensitive spot. He began to grind against her as her body responded to his action. Her breaths came short and pulsating. She crested wave after wave of intense stimulation. Then felt all of him inside her. He was mindless now. In a state of such physical ownership of her body that he was lost to everything else around him._

 _His climax was excruciating. He was breathless. Hot. He slammed her once more against the wall as his body shattered into a million pieces._

 _Then slumped. His head on her shoulder. He eased her down. She melded into his body. His sweat soaked shirt feeling cool against her hot skin._

 _Matthew took a deep breath and, still shaken from the exertion, had the minimal presence of mind to affix his trousers back into place. And smoothed her dress down from where it still clung to him._

 _He did not want to make her any more untidy._

" _Je t'aime Mary." He crooned_. _"Je t'aime tellement_ _." He started to cry from the emotions churning inside him._

" _"Je le sais, mon amour, je sais"." She responded, holding him tightly._

 _Never letting go._

XX

Mary turned to her parents. "Matthew and I will stay the night after all."

Robert could not look any less enthused. "And the agreement?" His voice dripping disdain.

Matthew refused to rise the bait. Especially with Mary standing next to him, a death grip on his hand.

With only a hint of a forced smile, Matthew replied, firm but without rancour "In all good conscience I cannot sign the document as written."

Robert was about to protest but Matthew interjected with as much fortitude as he could muster at the moment. "Let's not be hasty. I think we've both said things we might regret later."

The older man broke off his initial retort. "Agreed." He said with a certain amount of resignation. "I'll tell Murray we'll put it off for another bit."

Cora changed the subject as she turned to her eldest daughter. "Sybil is arriving by the evening train. Edith has gone with the motor."

Mary let go of Matthew's arm to sit down next to her mother. "I didn't think she'd be able to get over before the autumn." She discretely patted the seat beside her. He knew she was reinforcing their decision to stay by her action, so Matthew did not protest. He was not, however, following this conversation.

"The birth has hastened their plans." Cora said. "So Sybil will get to visit before her confinement."

"So Tom is coming with her?" Mary lips puckered in delight.

Robert grumbled. "Yes. Our Fenian son in law will be in tow."

Matthew gave his wife a look of utter confusion.

Mary whispered, "Sybil's my youngest sister. She married the chauffeur in the spring and are now expecting their first child."

Matthew's lips pressed in amusement. "There's certainly more to you Crawley girls than meets the eye." No wonder Robert had hated him on sight.

"Just you remember it." Mary's eyebrows only slightly raised in jest.

XX

Several hours later and the family assembled in the dining room. Matthew always felt a sense of the surreal on such occasions. Whenever he remembered that civilians persisted they could sweep away that the war ever happened. Even in a house like Downton which had seen convalescing soldiers upend their lives and open the residents to the grim realities of the trenches, they calculatedly restored all prewar routines as possible. The footmen still in livery. The butler still fussing over the silver cutlery. The cook producing multiple course meals of the finest quality.

Beating back the future. Retreating to the safety of the past.

Matthew wished them all luck with that illusion. He could not do it.

The war was ever present. In his dreams. In his mind. On his body. Every step he took reminded him of the war. He was bitterly disappointed in the recent peace agreement. The Germans being forced to sign Article 231, already being referenced as the 'war guilt' clause, was the legal basis for the losers to pay the winners reparations. It was also, as Matthew and many others in the lower echelons of the British delegation well knew, a humiliation the Germans would not forget.

They had to sign it. No one wanted a return to war. But it left a disturbingly bitter taste in the mouth. And a conviction this peace was unsettled at best.

No soldier liked to believe their effort, their sacrifice went in vain.

But Matthew felt just that.

It didn't make the coming home any easier. Especially to a country that wanted, needed to forget.

He shook himself out of this self-pitying reverie. There was no point in it.

"So your sister made it?" Matthew asked his wife. He had heard the commotion down the hall as the footmen brought in luggage and hushed conversations indicated the arrival as well of Sybil's husband.

"Yes." Mary threw her eyes towards the library. "He's in there. Skulking. Can you go bring him in?"

"Me?" Matthew looked a bit panicky. "What am I to say to him?"

"I don't know, darling, you'll think of something." And she pushed him down the hall with a chuckle.

Matthew coughed to get the other man's attention. This Tom Branson was around his age it turned out. Stocky built, a bit shorter. Gulping down a drink at the table.

"Can I have one of those?" Matthew asked, walking towards the center of the room.

Tom turned around. "Help yourself." The light Irish brogue friendly enough. "It's not mine. I'm just the black sheep of the family."

Matthew took the proffered whisky. He downed it in one. "Just the ticket." He thrust out his hand in greeting. "Matthew Crawley. I think I've just supplanted you as the current persona non grata."

Tom accepted the handshake. "Tom Branson. I think I'll join you in that." And he took another swig from his tumbler. "So what makes you an outcast? They seemed to have let you in to the castle without much tumult."

"Looks can be deceiving." Matthew replied. "I stormed the battlements on a couple of fronts. I'm Lady Mary's husband for one thing. Of all of…" Matthew had to think about that. "Uh… five days."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "How can that be? I've never seen you around here. I used to work for Lord Grantham. Before…"

Matthew had gotten the whole story about the secret relationship between Sybil and the chauffeur from Mary while she put the finishing touches on her jewelry upstairs.

"I am very recent." He smirked. "I'm also the heir presumptive now. Now that Patrick's gone. They grubbed around the bottom of the pile and found me."

Tom was about to respond when a voice from the door interrupted their conversation. "Gulp those drinks down, both of you, we have to go in." It was Mary. She motioned for Matthew to follow her. And to bring Tom.

The two men knew when they were beaten. "Once more unto the breach, eh?" Matthew said.

"Hun or Black and Tan?" Tom sparred back.

"Pick your poison." Matthew quipped. He followed Tom out the door and down the hall. It felt good to have any ally in the family.

Matthew waited for Mary to be seated and then sat down next to her. It seemed that this was more informal gathering as it was just family. Mary had approved the black tie dinner jacket when he appeared at her door having been aided in dressing by yet another of the footmen the family employed.

The conversation flowed as Cora and Edith, who had arrived a bit late to the table, discussed certain new fashion trends they had noticed on a recent excursion to London.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I sometimes think it's time we lived in a simpler way." Matthew offered. "I mean if the war has taught us anything."

"Is that how you will run the estate when the time comes?" Robert groaned at Matthew's suggestion. "We shall not deprive any employee of their livelihood when they've done nothing wrong."

"Yes. But surely…." Matthew tried again but was interrupted by Violet.

"It's our job to provide employment." She chided gently the younger generation.

"But there's more opportunities now. Outside of service." Matthew persisted.

"Yes but an aristocrat with no servants is as much use to the county as a glass hammer." Violet reminded Matthew. "It's part of the age old mutual dependence we have on each other."

"And the world's changed since then." Matthew kept on, despite the dirty look Mary threw his direction. "The new taxes and inflation from the war will make all sorts of trouble for our economy I'm afraid. We're all going to have adjust."

"We all have different parts to play, Matthew" Robert said firmly. "And we must be all allowed to play them. It is as it has always been."

"Look where that got us?" Matthew scoffed. "The war to end all wars? As if."

Tom grumbled assent but a look from Sybil stopped him compounding situation by talking about the yoke of the English king.

Mary stayed Matthew's hand. It was shaking. He looked to her, calm and loving, and nodded. He knew he had crossed a line. "Sorry. It's been a rather long day." He went back to cutting his meat in silence.

Sybil wanted to rescue him. "I do so want to welcome you to the family, Matthew. It's such wonderful news about your marriage to Mary."

"Thank you." Matthew responded kindly. They looked across the table at one another. "It's lovely to meet you and Tom as well."

"What will you do with your time?" Sybil asked. "I assume you have been demobilized?"

"Very shortly." Matthew smiled tightly. "I have one other function to attend to in London and then I am free. And as far as a job goes…" Here he licked his lips and paused. He had not told Mary of his future plans. Everything had been so whirlwind.

"I've got one or two lines of inquiry out there." He said finally. "But I've not settled on anything. Not yet. Mary and I will have to decide that together." He strummed his hand nervously on the table.

Mary and he exchanged glances. Hers was confused. She did not know he had any opportunities for employment in London. She had assumed they would settle at home.

Robert grunted at the opposite end of the table. "Perhaps it would have been wiser to wait then. This marriage is so hasty. It's unseemly."

Sybil got excited. "Yes. You must tell me all about this. How did you meet? Why did you not bring him back to Downton sooner Mary? After all he's a Crawley, however distant."

At that Matthew's eyes widened in horror. As did Mary's. Neither had told the whole story. If not lied, they rounded the edges of the truth out a bit more than they should.

"Well… uh…" He started to respond.

Robert caught on to Matthew's hesitation. "Yes Mary. Cora informed me you met Matthew last month while you shopped in Paris. Yet you never said anything. Why didn't you bring him home to meet everyone?"

The proverbial pin could be heard to drop in the silence that followed.

"Perhaps we can speak in private." Matthew offered.

"No." Robert insisted wearily. "We should get it all out now. I'm finding myself rather tired of secrets."

Matthew was stunned. He would never divulge anything to publicly shame Mary. What they did was private. He was not afraid or regretful. The anonymity of their initial relationship had been not to protect their identity. Or to heighten the sexual tension between them.

Neither had simply felt it necessary. Their connection went deeper than any name, or title could possibly give them. Their passion simmered and burned. It had been enough.

And it was not meant to last. Both had known it. She would return to her world, and he to his flat above the café.

Fate had chosen for them, however, a different path. And now they were wife and husband. Lady Mary Crawley and Captain Matthew Crawley. The future Earl and Countess of Grantham.

None of that had quite sunk in yet.

So he had no answer. Nothing to give Robert that would satisfy.

"The secret, Papa," Mary's voice, assured and rich. "Is that I fell in love with a man in Paris. Rather quickly and rather improperly. A passion, a lust you could say, a love I could not give up. So I pursued him. And to my great relief, it turned out he loved me as well."

Matthew could only smile in utter joy and awe beside her. He grasped her hand. She clinched his back.

"I hope that dispels all the secrets." Mary concluded. "It's really very simple. The age old story of boy meets girl." She turned to her father. "You wanted me to find a good man, Papa. And I did."

Mary got up and kissed her father on the cheek. He tried to smile.

Robert was happy for her. But more than a little relieved she did not elaborate on just how lustful the two of them had been.

He was eating after all.

XX

 _Many many thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. It's much appreciated. Please continue to give me your feedback, opinions, and observations. I need these stories as a balm to my troubled soul with regards to canon events. Our MM live on in fan fic. And I appreciate every story, every reader, every supporter!_

 _The next bit of this story will take place in London…seeing Matthew in his last days in the Army and being offered a lucrative job with the Foreign Office… one he's hesitant to tell Mary about… And one he's not sure he wants until he works out why his father committed suicide. That plot must be resolved before MM can move on with their lives._


	8. Ch 8:Qu'avez-vous fait pendant la guerre

_Thank you Naniee for all the corrections to my French! I'll work on editing them!_

Previously:

" _The secret, Papa," Mary's voice, assured and rich. "Is that I fell in love with a man in Paris. Rather quickly and rather improperly. A passion, a lust you could say, a love I could not give up. So I pursued him. And to my great relief, it turned out he loved me as well."_

 _Matthew could only smile in utter joy and awe beside her. He grasped her hand. She clinched his back._

 _"I hope that dispels all the secrets." Mary concluded. "It's really very simple. The age old story of boy meets girl." She turned to her father. "You wanted me to find a good man, Papa. And I did."_

 _Mary got up and kissed her father on the cheek. He tried to smile._

 _Robert was happy for her. But more than a little relieved she did not elaborate on just how lustful the two of them had been._

 _He was eating after all._

XX

 _Later that same night:_

Matthew moved to knock on Mary's bedroom.

Was he allowed to just walk in? They were married. So he could walk in. Right? He hesitated. What if her maid was still in there? Dressing her for the night. Could he just walk in the middle of that?

He stood, in the cotton pyjamas and satin striped dressing gown Mary had purchased in Paris as a wedding gift, in the hallway.

Unsure. And self-conscious. He had not worn pyjamas since childhood. Certainly not as expensive, and most certainly not in Paris with Mary. They had lain naked all night.

It was all going to be different from here on.

Which was why he was standing here having this argument with himself. The footman turned valet… uh…what was his name? Matthew thought as the rather jumpy man walked by with a quizzical look. He turned and said, "Do you require anything, sir?" Even then his voice tremored.

They eyed each other nervously.

"No." Matthew said, slightly clearing his throat. Then with a bit of false bravado, "Have a good evening."

The valet… Molesley! Matthew remembered, kept looking furtively back until he finally disappeared around a corner.

He couldn't just stay out here….so with a certain amount of trepidation he walked in. Ironic, Matthew chuckled to himself, as he knew her body intimately.

But not her bedroom.

They had made love in many places.

His small Parisian flat to begin with.

Then her hotel room.

The romantic maison in Biarritz.

Then of course the audacious encounter along the Seine. The mere thought stirred Matthew to arousal.

He walked in.

Mary was at her dressing table. Her hair braided, she rubbed cream along her left arm. She turned at the sound of the door knob being opened.

She smiled as Matthew popped his head around the door. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Coast is clear, my darling." Mary said with a light laugh. "Anna has left for the night."

He closed the door behind him. Matthew walked towards the bed. He tested the springs with a series of small jumping motions. He could get used to this after spending so much time on hard cots or a mud soaked bench with rain dripping down his Brodie helmet.

"I know it's ridiculous but I feel just a bit out of place." He admitted, his face flushed a bright pink.

"You mean in my bedroom?" Her eyes danced.

"And in your bed." He responded in kind of dark and seductive tone.

"My maid is made of stern stuff. I'm sure she'll survive you being e _n déshabille_."

Matthew blushed again. "I mean do they all know what we… uh… we …"

"Made love all over France?" Mary replied, only encouraging his adorable mortified expression. It was so seldom she ever saw him without the protective armor that he cared nothing for the world as the world cared nothing for him. When he did break down, it was such an emotional tumult that they usually ended up rolling into bed in a tangled ball where one could not tell where one body ended and the other began. Sharing each other's heat, each other's strength.

It was why they were so good together.

"I'm quite sure we're the talk of servant hall gossip, yes." She disclosed. "But we did rather bring it on ourselves. After running away like that."

"Especially after your sister?" He asked, more than a little curious how that all played out in the family.

"Precisely." Mary continued her ablutions at the table. "And from me."

At his quizzical look, she replied. "You see me as impulsive. In reality I am not."

He found that hard to believe. "Don't play with me." He said, sidling up behind her. Rolling his fingers through her hair. "You must be speaking in a spirit of mockery."

The electricity between them threatening.

Mary sensed it. "What?" She said, languidly easing her head back so he could lose himself in a kiss. "You should have more faith. I am considered by everyone here as cold hearted. Impassive." Her lips soft as they released his.

"Nonsense." He said, dipping down for another kiss. "Shall I remind you how you most forwardly pressed your advantage over coffee? It certainly lives in my memory forever."

"Then you need to pay no attention to the things I say." Mary's arms lifted up to pull his mouth down onto hers for a long, penetrating kiss. Her tongue lapped his own. Her fingers played in his hair. She pushed a stray strand away from his forehead.

The frisson threatened to ignite into flame if they did not act on this fervor.

He swallowed his impulsive desire to lift her into his arms and set her down on the bed Instead he let the tension between them build some more.

He slid into a chair beside her night table. Matthew found it hypnotic watching Mary brush her hair. Rub various creams along her limbs and face. Her face glowed afterward.

"I'm not used to an audience." She said, knowing how much he was enjoying regarding her.

"I quite look forward to this being my new routine." Watching his wife was a balm to his troubled soul.

Their intimate interlude was broken by a rap at the door. Mary looked around inquisitively.

"Come in."

The door opened and Sybil walked in. She wore a snug dressing gown around her growing middle. "Matthew may I trouble you to retire for just a little while downstairs so I can have a long talk with Mary?"

Matthew tore himself away from Mary's face. "Of course." He said politely, getting up from the chair. "I'll just get a nightcap."

And he slipped out the door as Sybil took his place at the chair.

Mary turned to her most beloved sister, with a certain amount of concern. "You are looking rather peaked, Sybil darling."

Sybil shook off any concern. "Just tired from the journey."

Mary reached out to touch her hand. "I'm glad. I have to say I'm quite looking forward to being an aunt."

"And a mother yourself?" Sybil asked quietly. "Now that you've married again." She looked at Mary. "And this time for love I think."

"Whatever do you mean?" Mary side eyed her sister. "Didn't you think I loved Tony?" Even she had to say it with sarcasm.

"As much as anyone could love someone as dull as dishwater." Sybil responded in kind. "You know you did it just to spite Papa."

Mary face twitched in amusement. "And now we've done it again. It's a wonder Papa hasn't developed an ulcer after what we've put him through."

Sybil sighed. "None of what Papa worries about matters when we're in Dublin. Class and all that just seems to fade away. I'm Mrs. Branson and we just get on with our life."

"So you don't regret it?" Mary said. "Marrying the chauffeur?"

"He only feels patronized here." Sybil defended. "He's a wonderful man. But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I want to know more about yours. Is what Edith told me the truth?"

"What did she tell you?" Mary well knew Edith's knowledge came second hand. She had not entrusted any information to Edith about Matthew. Even on a good day she only half-tolerated Edith. The two, for whatever reason that had to do with Mary's endless needling of her middle sister in their girlhood, had never been on the best of terms as adults.

"That you met him Paris last month and married him within days of finding out he's the new heir."

"Sounds like how Edith would decipher it." Mary shrugged. "That's not exactly how it happened."

Sybil made a move towards the bed. "My back hurts, my ankles are swelling, and my head aches. Can we lie down?"

"Of course!" Mary said. She followed Sybil over to the bed where they both sat down amongst the pillows and coverlets. "Is that better?"

Sybil sighed. "Much. I'm the size of a house." She settled back. "So how did you meet? Is what Edith says close at all? That you only just met him? She said you were out for the main chance."

"Ugh…Edith." Mary was exasperated. "And I thought we were actually beginning to get along."

"I think she's just pulling at straws. Because you're being so mysterious."

"I'm not at all sure the truth is something any of you are prepared to take."

"Mary it cannot be that scandalous." Sybil was getting more excited. "Please do tell. I need some diversion. Tom is like a mother hen around me anymore."

Mary looked inscrutable. "Very well. I met him walking down the street in Paris. I had no idea who he was as he spoke French like a native but was wearing an English officer's uniform."

"Is that what drew you to him then?" Sybil pulled her legs around her and the blanket up against her waist. Leaned down into the pillow.

"He seemed different." Mary admitted. Thinking back to that day in Paris, not so long ago really. "They all have that so very lost look. But there was a strength about him. A confidence." She shook her head and confessed to her sister. "He invited me for a coffee. Then to his rooms."

That did it, it's all out now, Mary thought.

"And you went?" Sybil tucked in to the pillow further. "To do what precisely in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Sybil." Mary said with mockery. "Vulgarity is no substitute for wit."

She smirked. "You started it." Then more seriously. "I'm so glad we can discuss these things as two married women. I have so few confidantes."

Mary well understood. "Me as well." The two sisters hugged.

"You are glowing, Mary."

"We had a marvelous time." Mary remained enigmatic.

"Oh no. You can't leave it there." Sybil was on the edge of her seat to know more. "You usually leave your men panting on your every word while you walk away leaving them in your dust."

She sniffed. "There are very few that meet me as an equal." Mary said quite confidently. "Matthew did. We both knew what we wanted."

"I'll say you did." Sybil giggled. "But I still don't understand why you didn't bring him home to meet everyone. It would put to rest the notion you married him simply because he's now the heir."

Mary was exasperated with that notion. So she spilt the beans. "I didn't know his name, Sybil. I never asked him his name. I didn't know who he was until he walked into the library, threadbare suit and looking like a lamb going to the slaughter."

Sybil was flabbergasted. "You went to bed with a man you just met, whose name you did not know. He never asked? You never told him who you were?"

"No." Mary said with complete honesty. "Once it started, we just sort of got on with it. I turned my mind off anything else. We lived in a world of two. I've never experienced anything so intense. No demands. No expectations."

Sybil had to ask. "Didn't he expect to marry you? I mean what if … you know… something unforeseen happened?"

"You mean a baby?" Mary said. "He thinks he cannot sire any children."

Sybil obliquely glanced over at her sister. "Well…is everything working as it should?"

Mary gave an emphatic "Yes."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Sybil was suddenly saddened. "Despite what I say about not recommending this to anyone, don't you want children?"

"I've resigned myself to the possibility I will never be able to conceive. I never did in my marriage."

"That doesn't mean it won't happen for you." Sybil grabbed Mary's hand. "Maybe you should both visit a specialist?"

"It's not something I've allowed myself to dwell on." Mary admitted. "We were too caught up in each other. It didn't seem important."

"Why?" Sybil was so intrigued by her sister's confession. She had always thought Mary so cold and forbidding. To think that a man could touch her closed off heart and open her up to such passion. She loved Matthew just for that alone. Her sister deserved this happiness.

"Because I was returning to England and thought I'd never see him again. We'd had that time in Paris. And that would be it."

"And now?"

"Now…" Mary considered. "Now maybe I will." She did want to know if it was possible to have a child with Matthew. An heir. "To do our duty to the family? Papa would be over the moon."

"And Matthew. I know Tom is." Sybil smiled inwardly remembering how Tom liked to rub her belly and talk to their child in Gaelic. He would looked at her and say, "She has to know the language of her forebears." How he knew she carried a girl, she would never know. But he was so confident, she accepted it and loved him even more.

Mary darkened suddenly. Remembering Matthew's animosity towards her side of the Crawley family. "I'm just not sure…." She pursed her lips in sadness. "I'm not sure at all how he would feel."

XX

At that very moment Matthew sat in thought downstairs, a tumbler of whisky in his hand. He didn't deserve this happiness. And part of him was in absolute agony. His parents' death hit him in the most unexpected of ways. Watching Mary interact with her father. The ordinary conversations with her mother. Their easy affection.

He'd never be able to hug his mother again. Never tell her of his marriage. Of his gob smacked love for his wife. She'd have been thrilled.

A sad, slow smile crawled across his face at that thought.

Reginald Crawley's death was another matter entirely. He knew he would have to return to the Manchester house very soon. For one thing he wanted it on the market as soon as possible. It was clear Mary had no intention of making it their own home. And frankly neither did he.

It was too full of sad memories. Better to start afresh somewhere else.

And he needed the cash the sale would make. He wanted to make his own way in the world. Without any handouts from the Downton Crawley's for sure.

Which was, he knew, would lead him to accept the job offer by the Foreign Office. The one he had not yet told Mary about. When he turned in his final report on Alsace-Lorraine, he had been taken aside by Sir Eyre Crowe, the cantankerous but able head of the political section of the British delegation, and offered a job within his department as his assistant. "You're just the man Crawley." Crowe had said.

Matthew had looked doubtful. "I've just gotten married, sir." He had admitted. "I'm not sure I want to commit to another long term appointment just yet."

"Understandable." Crowe said. "Take a few weeks to consider it. Talk it over with your bride. But your qualifications are something we need at the moment. So many men lost. Needlessly lost. Others wounded either physically or spiritually. You give a think, eh?"

And Matthew nodded slowly. So much had happened in the weeks since he had met Mary. It had been heady, exciting. Allowing him not to wallow or drink himself into a stupor.

Crowe gave him another appraising look. "See you in London then? For the March?"

"Yes." Matthew nodded again. The reason they were to leave their honeymoon cut short and return across the channel. He had been summoned by his Colonel from the regiment. He was expected to be there. And it was not a request.

So tomorrow they were to go to London. 19 July was to be the Victory March. The procession of Army soldiers, Royal Navy sailors, VAD nurses and Queen Alexandra's Corps, allied and associate powers forces as well as colonials from around the globe. King George V and Queen Mary would be in attendance.

And surprisingly, he was looking forward to it. He'd meet up with some old pals from his regiment. Give praise to those who deserved it. Remember others who gave their life for a better future.

Lest we forget…. He tipped his glass in their honour.

Matthew's head turned at the sound of the creak of the side door.

It was Tom. "Sybil's not upstairs in our room. I thought she might be looking for some warm milk." He smiled. "She likes that late at night."

"She's up with Mary. I've been exiled here. Come and have a drink." Matthew got up to refill his own glass.

He handed one to Tom.

Tom asked. "You see action in France?" He noticed Matthew' wincing as he returned to his seat.

"Yes." Matthew eased down. "I had a spinal injury that acts up usually in the middle of the night when I'm not active enough." What he did not disclose was that his back was protesting all his recent exertions in Paris with Mary, as delightful as they all had been. The pleasure had been worth the pain, he reckoned.

"You?" Matthew asked back. He knew there were Irish volunteers in the regiments. Others had chosen to wait out the draft in support of Irish neutrality and home rule.

"I have a heart murmur." Tom replied. "But I helped out with the convalescing soldiers. Fetching them to and from the various hospitals."

"Is that how you courted Sybil?"

Tom gave a wisp of a smile. "More or less. She visited the garage and yard and we chatted a good bit. I drove her to her nursing course. She was keen on getting out and living a little."

Matthew well understood. He raised his glass. "To the Crawley sisters. What have we taken on?"

Tom laughed. "Mary wasn't too keen on the idea of a chauffeur for a brother in law. But I'm grateful that she's come around to our side."

"She's very much a pragmatist." Matthew raised his eyebrow.

"And tough." Tom said. "We tried to run away to Gretna Green but she brought Sybil back as none of your business. Mary was right in the end. Better to do it out in the open. We were married in Dublin in the spring."

"Did her sisters and family attend the wedding?" Matthew asked.

"Mary and Edith did." Tom answered. "Sybil loved having them there. And now we're testing the waters back here with her parents."

"The Irish mick and the Manchester wastrel. Not quite the sons in law the Earl was expecting." Matthew turned his eyes towards Tom. "We better stick together."

Matthew sipped his drink. "When is Sybil due?"

"Within the month." Tom got up to get a glass of water to bring back to the room he shared with his wife. "Are you thinking about children?" Tom asked.

Matthew gave a hard pause before answering. "I'm not at all sure." He admitted without disclosing too much private information. "I know it's important to the family."

Tom reacted with an emphatic nod of his head. "That's not why you do it. Children bring love with them. You have got to want to give all the love back."

Matthew was silent. Tom's unequivocal truth hit home. And suddenly he realized he wanted to have a family with Mary. He wanted it more than anything else in the world.

XX

The procession was well underway when Robert took his seat next to General Winchester of the Northumberland Fusiliers. The Earl was in attendance as the honorary Colonel of the North Riding regiment and as a guest of the king. Their majesties King George V and Queen Mary sat further down the row.

The king had already delivered a message to the wounded soldiers unable to march, "To these, the sick and wounded…I send out greetings and bid them good cheer, assuring them that the wounds and scars so honourable in themselves, inspire in the hearts of their fellow countrymen the warmest feelings of gratitude and respect."

The rest of the 15,000 troops marched. The Peace Day March was to be "The day when the boys came home."

It was said by many in attendance to the most impressive spectacle ever witnessed by Londoners and the world.

The sun was blazing. It was a perfect summer day. Sir Douglas Haig had already ridden by, but Robert was in plenty of time for seeing the soldiers of the northern regiments on parade.

Some of the Gurkhas of the Indian Army Contingent walked up the Mall as Robert sat down. The nurses had already finished. Sybil could have joined the other VADs but declined and stayed at Downton rather than walk the over six miles and perhaps make the baby suffer needlessly. Tom had stayed with her.

The band was playing the British Grenadiers March as divisions and regiments of soldiers trooped by and saluted the king.

General Winchester leaned in to shout in Robert's ear to be heard over the flutes and drums, "I see the Duke of Manchester Own's coming up next."

Robert gave a grumble. That was Matthew's regiment. He knew that he was marching even if they have traveled separately down to London. Robert had left on an earlier train to participate in the seating of various Allied and Associate dignitaries.

Winchester pointed out, "You should be right proud I would bet of your new heir."

Robert did not understand. "I suppose. He said he was injured on the Somme."

General Winchester grunted in riposte. "Well I would say so man. He saved the lives of over six soldiers and still went out to fetch another corporal. Unfortunately the young soldier died as they both fell into a fetid smelling debris trench. Still and all, the Victoria Cross is the proper thing."

Robert was stunned. And he crooked his head to see the sharply pressed khaki colored uniformed troops of the Light Infantry march by the stand.

Apart and a step ahead was Matthew. In the spot of honour.

Winchester lamented, "So sad he's the only surviving honoree. He marches for them all."

Robert nodded in sheepish agreement. He had no idea of Matthew's accomplishments in the war. What had Matthew said at that dinner, he didn't think it necessary to have to prove himself?

Now Robert understood why. Matthew's service spoke for itself.

Captain Matthew Crawley, with command inflection, barked the order "Salute to the right. Eyes Ri-i-i-ght." And all the regimental soldiers behind snapped to his order to honour the king and dignitaries in the viewing stand.

He was wearing the Bronze Cross pattée with Crown and Lion Superimposed.

Robert knew the motto emblazoned on the Victoria Cross. "For Valour."

Perhaps he had underestimated this new son in law of his.

XX

 _So we're getting into the heart of this story now… mysteries to be solved, babies to be born, and decisions to be made by MM as to their future. I hope everyone is enjoying reading this. Please leave a few words! Remember how much I appreciate all readers and reviewers! Thanks!_

 _The Victory March took place on Saturday July 19, 1919. Here's a link: watch?v=3iNpDqhJFms_


	9. Ch 9: un toast aux morts

After the parade was over...

XX

Previously:

 _Captain Matthew Crawley, with command inflection, barked the order "Salute to the right. Eyes Ri-i-i-ght." And all the regimental soldiers behind snapped to his order to honour the king and dignitaries in the viewing stand._

 _He was wearing the Bronze Cross pattée with Crown and Lion Superimposed._

 _Robert knew the motto emblazoned on the Victoria Cross. "For Valour."_

 _Perhaps he had underestimated this new son in law of his._

 _XX_

"What are you hiding?" Mary demanded. Her voice perhaps a tad more shrill than she intended.

Matthew could not have looked more confused. "What do you mean?" He adjusted his cap to keep the sun glare from his eyes. "I simply thought you'd be bored to sobs if you went."

Mary had just spent ages in an overcrowded, smelly viewing stand. Her legs cramped from lack of movement. The heat suffocating and making her prickly. "I haven't seen you for hours."

"I know my darling but it can't really be helped." He turned towards the group of men in uniform grabbing a smoke. "It's the only time I'll be able to see them."

"Is that all you're about?" Again it came out as an accusation.

Mary had just seen him in what seemed like an intimate tête-à-tête with a rather attractive blonde seconds before he noticed her among the throng of parade watchers. He had distractedly waved but did not let up on his conversation.

Suddenly Mary experienced a most unexpected pang of jealousy. And wariness. Wasn't it just how they met? On that sidewalk in Paris? One conversation and a cup of steamed coffee later and she lay breathless in his arms as he stripped her dress off and flung it across the room.

She had felt the only woman in the world to him that day. That moment. She never doubted that he had felt the same.

Until now. He was so easy, so charming with this other woman. He was animated and smiling. His arm brushed hers and they laughed.

She realized in that instant she knew so very little about him. She had taken his love on instinct. His devotion for granted.

But what it was ephemeral? She knew that was being silly, but it persisted as a niggling thought at the back of her mind. His emotions were all over the place. Was his love the same?

She felt rotten for doubting him as right now he was, to Mary's mind, in the best of moods.

There was a looseness about him. They had been in good spirits that morning traveling down to London for the Victory Parade. She admired his uniform, starched and brushed to perfection by Molesley just that morning at Downton.

He had told her she was his sanity. She had brought him back into the flow of life.

There was still, however, the air of melancholy about him. She felt him get more jumpy as the train rolled into the station. Matthew's hand had started to tremor. He wanted to do the regiment proud. But he also felt a bit of a fraud. Always had, he told her. Ever since they pinned the medal on him in hospital. Mary let him continue without interruption, just holding his hand more and more tightly.

"I no longer believed." He said. "In the war. In the lies we were forced to perpetuate." He slumped against the back of the train seat. "But now…." He paused. "I think I can do this for all those who can't."

The parade allowed him to purge the restless discontent formed in the crucible of war. That air that hung about him. A painful reminder to a forgetful public, he was one of the detritus of war. A survivor. One of the " _génération perdue_ , those who wore their world weariness as another would wear a suit of clothes. He had been like the charred end of a sharp stick poked too many times into the fire. Stab it again and it would shatter into a million pieces of ash.

Mary had watched his march with a certain amount of trepidation. Would he faulter? But he did not. No hesitation. No sign of the doubts he had expressed earlier. His tone command sharp. It carried into the grandstand. The cadence crackled. The soldiers behind snapped attention right.

Everyone in the stands murmured approval. Their eyes followed the soldiers as they passed the King and Queen.

Mary watched only Matthew's face. It was impassive. Unreadable.

"On with the dance, my darling." Was the last thing he said before they parted so he could get in formation with his regiment. "The dead watch us. They will know what it's all for."

And yet, yet afterward Mary sensed only relief from Matthew. At the end of things, he found his peace.

And was happy.

Was she going to lose him then? Was she only good for him during his darker days?

Could they be happy together?

Matthew continued to chat amiably to this other woman while Mary mused.

He had no idea of her reservations. Finally walking over and taking her hand, Matthew informed her of his intention to meet up with some old regimental pals.

She felt suddenly left out of his life. This life that was his. And his alone. She realized he had conformed to her life. Her family.

But he had a life before. One he did not think she needed to share. The burden he called it. The burden of being one of the living.

He needed to that put past him. Before he could go into the future with her. But how to do that when it kept rearing its head and drawing him back?

"Who was that?" She flicked her head towards the blonde woman, now mingling with the other officers.

He glanced behind him. "Who?" Suddenly figuring out her shortness with him. His lips twitching in good humour. "Diana Yardley you mean?" He looked at her from under his eyelashes. "Oh darling really. She was my bunkmate's wife from the Somme. Paul copped it in August 1916 from a German sniper. Diana is now getting married again. She's with Charlie over there." And he pointed to an open faced fellow with his arm around his wife's waist.

Mary refused to look sheepish. "I see." Instead she pointedly adjusted her hat.

"You weren't jealous were you?" His tone mocked, brushing her cheek with a kiss.

"Nonsense." She sniffed. "Is she going along with you?" Despite herself, Mary still wanted to know.

"Boys own, I'm afraid. No ladies allowed at the club. Your lot knows all about that." He had to give that back.

"Touché." Mary countered.

"Do you want to meet them?" He asked it cautiously as he knew Lady Mary rarely interacted with those from the middle classes. If he wasn't married to her and Robert's heir he would never have sat at the dinner table at Downton. So he added, "You know the MacGuinesses? That's Charlie, the younger son of the Marquess of Lothian."

"Oh yes? I think I only know their sister." And Mary slyly glanced around her husband for a glimpse of the pack of young officers waiting for Matthew to join them. She knew what he was doing. And part of her was unused to the mingling of the classes the war brought. Even at Downton she had largely kept her distance from interpersonal contact with the convalescing soldiers. Leaving that to Edith who had taken the responsibility of administering to the patient's needs.

She had felt a fish out of water amongst them. And she didn't like that feeling. It made her uncomfortable. Her inhibitions, her upbringing fought her desire to move smoothly into the future with a man of that very class. She had accepted his bed. Had allowed him privileges with her body, her heart that surprised her still to this moment.

Matthew had accused her of slumming with him. When his own anger, his own pique got the better of him.

And both were true. She wanted him. And she wanted to remain true to her own upbringing. Her own worldview. Even it had been shattered to oblivion and made to look laughable after the cauldron of this war.

It was all she knew. All she had known, Mary corrected herself. Before she had walked fully aware and cognizant of how life changing this marriage would be.

Now she had to accept change. But not necessarily on anyone's terms but her own.

"When will you return to Grantham House?"

Matthew blew air through his cheeks. "Late probably. And more than a bit worse for wear. I have a feeling we're going to be doing a great deal of toasting to dead comrades."

Mary wondered if he could handle that. "How will that be?"

"Cathartic." Matthew reflected. "I think I need it."

Mary kissed his cheek. She liked this new positive attitude. "As long as you come back to me."

But she also deliberately slipped in, "Papa is going to be at the Army Club as well."

Matthew nodded nebulously. His attention had been drawn towards yet another old regimental pal who had walked up to the group waiting for Matthew.

"Why don't you invite Papa to drink to old comrades as well?" She was well tired of the two men not even trying to get along.

That got his attention. "As you said about me to your father, I doubt that we will ever become friends. Your father will never see past my middle class origins. The irony is he either views me as a wastrel or a bean counter out to either lose or steal his fortune. In either case, I'm a threat to his way of life."

"Give him a chance." Mary said. "I do love you both. And you will hopefully have to put up with him for the next twenty or thirty years."

"I know. I know." He admitted. He turned tables back on her. "Let's go over shall we?"

She took his proffered arm and nodded. They approached the small group.

"Charlie, Burleigh I want to introduce you to someone." Matthew's voice caught his friends' attention. They turned. "Captains MacGuiness and Cuthbert may I present my wife, Lady Mary Crawley."

Mary greeted them all with an assured smile and a nod. "It is a pleasure gentlemen."

Four years in the trenches may have taught these soldiers never be caught unawares, but they stared agape in astonishment.

"You are a dark horse." Cuthbert said, his rich tone giving away his public school origins. "How do you do?" And he tilted his head in introduction towards Mary. "How did such a stunningly intelligent woman end up with Galahad here?"

Mary's eyes narrowed in confusion. Matthew interrupted with slight exasperation, "Behave yourself, Curly. No need to get into all that."

"Sorry old man, but after our all male soiree in northern France, I'm rather overwhelmed with female attentions."

Matthew rolled his eyes and quickly introduced the rest of the set of officers and young ladies.

Diana greeted Mary, "I'm so very glad to meet you. Matthew's been alone far too long." She turned to Matthew. "Will you bring her to Cynthia's house party at Morton's Priory? We need to get to know you."

Before either could answer, Matthew's attention was drawn away.

"Will you be living in London or Paris?" Captain Purefoy asked the couple. "I assume Sir Eyre's roped you in." And he gave a knowing look towards Matthew. "Sarah's family is insisting we stay with them now that the treaty's napoo." And at that his wife intervened, "Oh do say you will be in London. That would be simply deevie."

"Excuse me?" Mary was decidedly, and rather uncomfortably discombobulated. They all spoke in a kind of code, unknown to her. The last bit particularly unnerving. Matthew taking a job? Without informing her?

She turned a cool eye towards him.

Matthew had known this to be a mistake. It was all too much for Mary to take in. And for him to explain. There was so much to explain.

"I'll tell you all later, darling." At which point he was relieved of any more explanation when Cora approached and told Mary that she was expected back at Grantham House for luncheon with the Dowager.

A few more quick introductions later and they all parted. Matthew promising not to be too late.

XX

"He jumped the trench in one I tell you. Then ran like a banshee across the line and into the dugout. God knows how a sniper did not get him." MacGuiness could barely bring the cigar back to his lips he was laughing so heartily.

"Dowland was ever the man when the flap was on." Matthew agreed. "As cool under fire as ice."

"To Dowland!" Charlie drew his whisky up. They all followed suit. He had died 1 July 1916.

This had been going on for hours. They were wallowing now. Matthew as well. He joined in the drinking. The singing. The rude jokes that were passed around. The room filling with cigar smoke.

"One hardly needed really to bury the dead." Purefoy observed. "The trench was ever the perfect size to a grave. Just pour some more damn mud in and none of us would have ever needed a funeral."

"You remember that squirrely boy? Erm… Hughes? He cried every fucking time the shells started. Every fucking night… It drove me mad." Cuthbert shivered at the memory. "I told him to stop it or we'd see him a real reason to cry. Damn shell will get you, I screamed at him."

"Don't you know the bang of the shells were always meant for someone else." Young said. He had joined them at the Army Club. "You never hear the whistle of the one that got's your name on it."

Cuthbert grunted. "Hughes was blown up in No Man's Land the next day. Right in front of me." He turned pale at the memory.

Matthew threw his head back. "To Hughes!" And they all took another swig.

He hardly felt anything anymore. The numbness felt good. The room was swimming around his face. He shut his eyes tight and reopened. No, the room still spun like a pinwheel.

Matthew poured himself another.

He then noticed some uniformed men in the hall outside. The door had been left ajar to let some air circulate through the smoke.

Matthew barely discerned Robert, walking alone. He jammed his foot against the table and pushed his chair back, and despite the nauseous queasiness that overtook his forward motion, stood up and made his way towards the door.

"Robert." He managed it as a guttural whisper.

Grantham turned around. "I was just in with Colonel Pinckney." He was interrupted by another roaring "To Henslow!" from the room behind Matthew's head.

Matthew crooked his head back towards inside. His father in law got his attention back with a curt "Matthew."

Matthew looked over.

"I was very proud of you today. I … I underestimated you. I am sorry for that." Robert clapped a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

Matthew was on just this side of sober to take in Robert's praise. He accepted it with grace. "I really do want Downton to be my future. Our future. Your daughter is very practical. But she … I mean we… did a rather outrageous thing in getting married without your approval first. I hope…." God his mouth was dry from the whisky… "I hope we can all make amends."

"I only wanted a good man for her." Robert confided. "I think she's found him."

Matthew acknowledged that with a grateful nod. "Would you like to join us? We're about to make our way to the pub around the corner?" Matthew needed some food. And to get out of the stuffy atmosphere and dress code of the club.

"Well I don't know…." Robert looked dubious. "I'm supposed to join the committee on the cenotaph…."

"You can slip out just for a bit, eh?" Matthew squinted to see through the smoky haze. "You need a meal?"

Robert gave a grin. "Why not. Give me a minute. I'll meet you out front. Thank you for inviting me."

Matthew smiled. "You can muck along with us and drink to your Boer War mates."

XX

At first Mary thought it was yelling she heard down from the street below her bedroom at Grantham House. It was loud. Persistent. And enough to wake the dead.

It was 2am and neither Matthew nor Robert had returned home. She had sent Molesely to bed hours ago. But she waited up. Unable to sleep in the heat of mid summer anyway.

Then the noise again. A low rumble, then much louder. It was not a street brawl, or an argument -but singing. A rather over the top, energetic version of a recent hit tune…

 _It's a long way to Tipperary,_

 _It's a long way to go._

 _It's a long way to Tipperary_

 _To the sweetest girl I know!_

 _Goodbye, Piccadilly,_

 _Farewell, Leicester Square!_

 _It's a long long way to Tipperary,_

 _But my heart's right there_.

Matthew's light baritone was quite distinct. He was singing in time with another. One of his friends from the regiment? Was he bringing him back to Grantham House for the night? Should she rouse Carson to fix a bed?

Mary moved towards the window and looked below.

The two men were now within visual range. She could not make out the other person. But Matthew was shoulder to shoulder with another uniformed officer. Who held up who was in question as both men staggered and lurched down the street.

Singing once again…. This time a much more risqué tune.

Matthew was teaching the words….

 _Mademoiselle from Armentieres,_

 _Parlez-vous,_

 _Mademoiselle from Armentieres,_

 _She hasn't been kissed for forty years,_

 _Hinky-dinky parlez-vous._

"Is that all?" The other man asked.

"Second chorus…." Matthew slurred whisper came.

 _Oh, Mademoiselle from Armentieres,_

 _Parlez-vous_

 _You didn't have to know her long,_

 _To know the reason men go wrong!_

Both men ending with _"Hinky-dinky parlez-vous"_

They were definitely making their way to the front door. She could hear the bell peal.

Then a giggling "SHHH" sound from the other man. And the next thing she knew, the door had opened and slammed.

"SHHHHHHHHHHHHH….." came both of them followed by a loud guffaw of raucous laughter.

"You'll wake them all…" The slurred voice said.

"What's the next verse?" The other insisted.

 _Oh, Mademoiselle from Montparnasse, Parlez-vous_

 _As soon as she'd spy a Colonel's brass…_

Mary appeared at the bottom step of the front hall staircase. "Matthew!" Her voice rang with shock.

Matthew stopped short of finishing the rude lyric. His cap was cocked at a precarious angle aback his head. His hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot. A goofy grin spread across his face.

"Mary my sweet. You're up?" He could barely make his lips move to say the words.

"SHHHHHH…. I told you to be quieter." Said the voice next to him.

"Too late for that Papa." Mary ruefully examined the sorry state of her husband and father. They stood like contrite schoolboys caught smoking out behind the gymnasium.

Both swaying slightly as if on a ship at sea.

Cora appeared behind Mary. "Let's end this day on a happy note." Her mother said. "I'll take care of mine. If you take care of yours." She had to smile.

Mary concurred. "Come on Matthew. Let's get you upstairs."

He accepted her arm and nuzzled his head against her neck as they made their way up the stairs. She caught a whiff of stale alcohol and cigar smoke on his breath. His hair tickled her and his lips brushed her throat. "You smell like a man just exiting a tart's boudoir." She whispered.

"Well you told me to help your father enjoy himself." Matthew rejoined. His lips puckering insouciantly.

"Matthew Crawley you never!" She side eyed him.

He chortled. "Of course not. Just a good evening out. He told the story of how Bates got that bad leg. Quite shook him up and he became a bit three sheets to the wind. We all were by then."

He staggered against the railing, but caught himself in Mary's arms. "This is ever where I want to be." He said. Their lips met in a fierce kiss. Mary felt his arms seize her waist. He pulled her closer. The kiss deepened.

"Let's go into the bedroom." Mary whispered.

He grinned rakishly. "Reminds me of Paris." He pushed her ever so gently against the wall across their room. His arms came up to pin her. But stopped abruptly when Cora and Robert brushed past on their way to the master suite.

His mother in law caught his eye.

"I can help…" Matthew rather too quickly offered. He dropped his hands that held his wife against the wall.

"No." Cora grunted. "I've got him. Bates is waiting in the dressing room." And Robert muttered a loving acknowledgement of Cora's ministrations.

Matthew turned back to Mary. His cheeks flaming red from either the drink, the embarrassment of being discovered making Mary untidy in the hallway, or from the desire to continue to do so.

"Inside." Mary demanded. And she threw open their bedroom door.

Matthew silently obeyed. And almost immediately fell with a satisfied groan onto the bed. He leaned up on his elbows.

Mary was taking his boots off.

"You're going to undress me?" He asked, his voice raspy from the earlier smoking. His eyes enticing her even as they slowly drooped shut against his will.

"Just these boots. Can't have them on my bed." She gasped as one of the pair of boots came off.

"Where's Molesley?" Matthew asked. "Isn't he supposed to do such things? Whenever I try to undress or dress myself he appears like an apparition behind me demanding that is his task."

"He's on the opposite side of the house. Doubt he heard you and I don't want to disturb the household anymore. You and Papa did that quite enough." Mary tried to sound miffed, but she was not.

Matthew knew it. "Here." He said, taking her hand and pulling her onto the bed beside him. "Let me do that. I'm not that far gone."

Mary gave the task over to him with alacrity. She sat up next to him. "So you had a good time?"

"Yes." Matthew pulled his hands down across his face as if to sober himself up even more. "The Colonel even made an appearance. We drank to king and country. The missing and the dead."

He pulled off his Sam Browne belt and took off the tie that was already loosened around his collar. His head fell back against the soft pillows.

He reached out and pulled her closer. "I'll run a bath in a few minutes."

Mary was more than curious to get the answer to a question she had all afternoon and into the night. She snuggled next to him.

"Matthew?"

"Hmmmm…." Came the answer amidst what began to sound like light snoring.

"Why Galahad?" She perked her head up to see his reaction.

He looked sheepishly down into her eyes. "It's an old nickname from the regiment. Everyone got one in the first weeks or months in France. Charlie's is 'Flash' as he was the devil when it came to wooing some of the local girls."

"And yours?" Mary persisted.

He sighed next to her. "You know the reference of course?"

She responded, "Knight of Arthur's Round Table. Found the Holy Grail. He's known as the most perfect of knights."

He inhaled. _"I never felt the kiss of love/Nor maiden's hand in mine_." He quoted Tennyson. "He's known as Galahad the Pure."

She chuckled lightly into his chest. "Well well… I know better than that. So how did that come about?"

"We were in a… a _maison tolérée_ … a brothel that catered to officers." He started. Mary shifted beneath him. "Should I go on?"

"Of course. We're married. All discussions are now possible. I won't be shocked." Mary reassured him.

"It was," He breathed out …"I don't know, March 1915 maybe. We were all bored and wanting to get out. Some of the company went with the young ladies at the establishment." He coughed. "I did not. I stayed in the main salon, smoking and reading by the fireplace as they all walked in and out of the rooms giving me dirty looks and muttering under their breath about my supposed chastity."

"You weren't tempted?" Mary teased. She knew Matthew to be the most ardent of lovers. And not averse to spontaneous acts of carnality.

"I won't say I wasn't aroused." He admitted. "But it seemed wrong. The purchasing of sex. I know it did a roaring trade. But we were all warned about the spread of disease. And I … really just wanted to be left alone with my book and my thoughts. Just getting out of the war for a bit was all the respite I needed."

"Thus the nickname?"

"Yes." Matthew said with a certain amount of bitter irony. "I think in part to mitigate their own feelings of guilt, they taunted me with being of too much the pure heart. The moralist amongst us, some said. Others began the Galahad sobriquet. Too pure for my own good."

He paused. "Eventually it just became an affectionate nickname. No hard feelings. Especially after my injury. And Lavinia's death. They were all quite good about it."

"I see." Mary settled once again into his shoulder. "I'm glad that's all past you now. Will you get your bath?"

But the explanation had taken whatever energy Matthew had left, and he slept. His head tilted down onto her own. She nuzzled closer and slept herself.

Happy that he seemed so much on the mend from the shattering experience of his war.

XX

Then the phone call happened.

Matthew had woken early and without disturbing Mary's slumber had moved into the adjoining dressing room to finish the bath and put on the suit of clothes Molesley had left out for him. By that time the valet had arrived and finished dressing him.

Mary was up and awaiting a breakfast tray from Anna. She told him to go downstairs and see whether her father was awake.

Matthew made his way down the stairs when he heard the jangle of the telephone. He answered it.

"May I speak to Mr. Crawley?" The crackled voice on the other end said.

"Speaking." Matthew replied.

"I got this number from tracking you down to Downton Abbey." The answer came. "I am Charles Lovell."

Matthew was still a bit slow on the uptake that morning. And had a splitting headache. He took some powders for it and was really just wanting a cup of tea and toast. "Who?" He responded.

"The Inquiring Agent Charles Lovell. You left some messages for me about an old case. I wanted to tell you I have new information that sheds light on the attack that took place at Downton Abbey in 1900. The attack your mother suffered at the hands of James Crawley…."

Matthew was stunned. He gasped for air.

"…Mr. Crawley …" Are you there.

The phone was shaking in Matthew's hand.

XX

 _Reviews are sooooooo great to read! :)_

 _Getting into the heart of this mystery next... Tom will help out ... Matthew will plummet back to despair_

 _I pinched a line out two from a favourite... no plagiarism intended._


	10. Ch 10: Pour vous mon amour

_"The Inquiring Agent,_ Charles _Lovell. You left some messages for me about an old case. I wanted to tell_ you _I have new information that sheds light on the attack that took place at Downton Abbey in 1900. The attack your mother suffered at the hands of James Crawley…."_

 _Matthew was stunned. He gasped for air._

 _"…Mr. Crawley …" Are you there._

 _The phone was shaking in Matthew's hand._

XX

Matthew mechanically replaced the phone receiver back in its cradle. He turned first towards the dining room where he could hear Robert's rather peeved and tired voice complaining to Carson about the tepidness of his coffee.

The crushing normality of that he could not endure.

His world had stopped, yet everyone else's continued to move in rhythm.

Matthew exited through the front door. The sun was shaded by clouds, he noted.

Suited his current mood.

Without direction, his feet autonomically turned left around the crescent and out to main road alongside Victoria Station. He walked aimless. Adrift. Cut off from the buzz of humanity by the ringing in his ears.

He walked in a fog of his own thoughts. His own making.

Away.

The instinct was to get away. It had been with him since the war.

The freedom to just walk away.

He had felt trapped for such a long time. Cooped up in the war. In the dugouts. In the trenches. In the lines. In his uniform. In his regiment. To his men. To king and country. To his duty.

He had paid his price. The victory ball was on. The nation wanted to forget.

And he realized he was free. Alive and free to do what he wanted.

So when the war ended, the freedom to just walk away was intoxicating. Liberating. Healing.

He had not needed to escape for a while now. Not since Mary entered his life.

But now the instinct returned.

He stopped by a newsagent and bought a pack of Black Cats. Despite trembling fingers he managed to claw one out of the packaging and light it. The cigarettes had been wildly popular in the trenches. Not least because it came with small French dictionaries and phrase books tucked inside.

The air was heavy with humidity. He made for the river. The path along the Thames was long and made for contemplation.

Charles Lovell's information astounded him. His mother was attacked? By a Crawley relation? At Downton? His brain, slowed by the revelries of the night before, had only now begun to process these facts. And facts they were now. No longer his suppositions or suspicions. But reality. The private investigator mentioned some scant evidence and relying on what the solicitor had told him about interviews with Reggie Crawley.

So his father had been in close contact with this solicitor and the P.I.

He walked and puffed on the smoke. How could he have been so in the dark about this incident in his parent's past? He had no idea about any of it. They had wanted to protect him obviously. And assumed it would never re-emerge into the light of day.

And it would not. Except that Robert Crawley had no sons. And Patrick had died in the war.

Fate? Matthew mused. He was destined to find out in this fashion? Right as he was to embark on being the heir to the very name and title of the family that had so destroyed his own. His father had shot himself upon finding out. He couldn't live with the shame brought on his family by his distant, richer relations.

And now he was in the same situation. His father had left him with the decision as well. One he had intended to pass. Refuse the title. Demand they move on to yet another, even more obscure, opportunist.

Except for Mary. No one would have foreseen that he would have initiated an anonymous relationship with a woman in Paris only to find that self-same woman to be the daughter of the earl of the title he had gone to Downton to refuse.

Which he had been going to do. With a self-righteous anger and a barely concealed hostility towards idea he would accept such a title simply to improve his own station in life.

That's not how it turned out.

He had been softened by Mary's love. Had the Ouija board spirits put Mary in his path that day in Paris just so his life would change for the better?

She already had, in ways both intense and subtle. He had never felt more alive than those days in his cramped room above the café. His touch upon her. The feel of her skin. The tingle of gooseflesh. The feel of the warmth within her thighs. The wetness. Her gasp of ecstasy as his touch reached home. They had moved as one flesh, one breath, one being.

That moment had lasted an ever and a day.

And now he felt rooted to her. The wandering soul that he had been in Paris had found his home. In her heart. In her spirit. He could move on into the future. He even had begun to contemplate Downton as part of that future.

How much the fool he had been?! Letting his sentiments cut the edge off his indignation.

He was going to have to get to the bottom of things before he could possibly move on.

Suddenly he turned towards Victoria Station. Without reflection, he bought a one way to Manchester. He would have a good rummage around the house and find something. He had to find something. To complete the story. Otherwise it would be impossible to move forward with Mary.

He boarded the train.

XX

Mary dressed and walked down the stairs at Grantham House. She put her head into the dining room. Her father was still reading his paper.

"Has Matthew stepped out?" She glanced around.

Her father looked up. "I haven't seen him this morning at all. I thought he was still sleeping off last night."

Mary gave her father a mock disapproving look. "You are looking a bit peaky."

He grunted. "Not as young as I used to be."

"I wonder where's he got to?" Mary queried. "Carson. Have you seen Mr. Crawley?"

"He received a telephone call about an hour ago, my lady, and left soon thereafter." Carson responded as he checked the sideboard.

"Telephone call? From whom?"

"An Inquiring Agent. I took the call downstairs and transferred it up to the front landing. A Mr. Lovell." Carson's intonation inflected slight disapproval.

Mary blanched. "I see." Shortly spoken as she did not want to stir servant's quarter gossip. Although that was probably already a forlorn hope given her whirlwind marriage to Matthew and all the mysteries that surrounded him.

"What do you mean he left?" Robert asked. "We're leaving this morning for York. When will he return?"

"He left no word." Carson replied. He carried the tray from the room.

Mary quickly excused herself and followed Carson out. "Carson" she said, trying not to sound too panicked. "Did the gentleman leave a number where he could be reached?"

"Yes my lady. I had to take the number as I had difficulty transferring to the landing telephone." Carson replied. "I shall retrieve it?"

Mary nodded. She needed to find out Matthew's whereabouts. To make sure he was safe. And in good mind.

She did not expect him back to Grantham House. He had done this disappearing without warning before.

XX

 **Paris: June 1919**

 _She returned from her hotel to find the room empty. But his kit bag still in a corner. And he left the door unlocked. So it seemed he had just stepped away for a bit._

 _But she had stayed hours either in his room or in the café downstairs and he never returned. Realizing she was causing a bit of stir amongst the women behind the counter, she retreated back to her hotel._

 _She had no right to be angry at him. They had no commitment at all. She had never inquired even as to his name. So it irritated her that she was angry._

 _What had he done to her in just a few days? She felt completely out of sorts that he was gone._

 _Returning, she paced around her hotel room. Not knowing how to proceed._

 _Was he in poor health? She knew he had some kind of war injury but had made no inquiries about it. It was not how they were with each other._

 _The intimacy came from their physicality. Not because of shared history._

 _The immediacy of touch. Even now just the recollection of his long, sinewy fingers on her skin made it prickle. It was delicate and strong. He would blow in her ear while his hands moved down along the curves of her hips and thighs._

 _She shuddered and her lip trembled in anticipation. Oh God she wanted him right now._

 _What did it all mean? What had started as a lark, a dirty week end to put a thumping conclusion to the utter failure of her marriage had become life itself._

 _She had felt more of a connection to this stranger than she had to any other man she had ever met. He knew her. Knew her in ways that she had shown to no one else._

 _She couldn't leave without seeing him again. Her family was expecting her back in England. Her mother had telephoned asking when she was to take the ferry. When she had been less than forthcoming about her plans, she heard her father rumbling in the background that she was needed at home._

 _Why, she asked herself. She had no real function at home. Her father, in particular, had made her more than aware that she was useful as an object to be pushed and shoved around as his will needed._

 _She finally assuaged their queasiness about her remaining alone in Paris for a few days more by promising to attend a luncheon at the British Embassy, in lieu of her father who had been requested to appear on behalf of the North Riding Regiment._

 _And ironically it was there she had found him. In close discussion with a rather refined looking gentleman in a corner of the embassy banquet room. He was gesticulating rather wildly and his voice was raised._

 _He stood out in part because his rumpled suit was not in the same fashion of the dapper men in the room. He looked to her like he had literally slept in those clothes._

 _The other reason he stood out was that the two men were in the midst of a heated argument._

 _The French was flying fast and furious between the two men._

"Les Allemands ne vont pas accepter de tels termes sévères sans plainte." _He exploded._ "Il serait peut-être préférable de travailler à un compromis plutôt que d'expulser les ressortissants allemands en Alsace Lorraine."

"Jamais _." His counterpart clucked and dismissed the younger man with a wave of his hand. "_ Ainsi soit-il"

 _Her erstwhile lover rolled his eyes back in his head. "_ Sur votre tête s'il alors. Je vais vous donner mon rapport d'ici la fin du mois."

 _She ducked behind a potted plant to listen. She could not follow the details of the conversation but it was clear he was unhappy. The two men then walked away in opposite directions. The Frenchman towards the banqueting room, the other towards the foyer and the front door. The rain pouring outside stopped his exit._

 _He turned back towards the main banquet room._

 _It was only when she emerged from her hiding spot and made a casual move towards the sideboard, that she felt eyes upon her._

 _She was sidelines by the wife of the British ambassador. The woman was going on about the heat of the French summer. She was idly nodding agreement. And with what she hoped was subterfuge, she threw some glances around behind her._

 _Their eyes locked across that crowded room. His red faced mien still reflected his agitation after the argument. He rocked on his heels and hands were gripped tight in his trouser pockets. He would not take his eyes from her._

 _They bored into her. Demanding she acknowledge his presence._

 _She did not give him the satisfaction. He could wait. As she had for him._

 _Yet she flushed as her body betrayed her own need. Her own desire for him. Their entire relationship was defined by this rush, the high of just existing in the same space._

 _She knew he would not leave without having her. His addiction needed assuaging._

 _And she was right._

 _He walked up behind her. She felt the wisp of his heated breath. "Let's get out of here." Sotto voiced, like decadent chocolate._

 _She slyly smirked at his eagerness. "I'm occupied at the moment. And you have been nowhere to be found." Maintaining an outward calm she did not feel. She wanted to rip his clothes off. "I'm not at your beck and call."_

 _She sensed his laugh, his change of mood._

" _You know you want to." Insistent, alluring. He knew her all too well._

" _I beg your pardon sir, you know no such thing." She leaned in ever so much closer to him._

" _But I do." His voice, if possible lowered a register and thrummed inside her body making her shiver in delight._

 _He chuckled as he knew he had hit the spot. She was weakening._

" _Besides it's raining." She tipped her head towards the garden windows._

 _He shrugged, unruffled that such a thing a summer storm would stand in their way. "Then we'll get wet." He took her hand._

 _She nodded a polite good-bye to the talkative woman and followed him out._

 _As soon as they were outside he pulled her towards him for a deep kiss. "Oh." He said, "I missed you."_

" _Not enough to tell me where I could find you."_

" _I'm so thoughtless." He kissed her again in apology. "I'm not used to having anyone to tell. I had to take a research trip for my job."_

" _Did you find the answers you needed?"_

" _Yes." He said diffidently. "Though my opinions don't count for anything really. All I do is tell them what I found and they then proceed to patently ignore me."_

" _And earn the wrath of rather important looking diplomats?" She tossed her head towards him. The argument had been heard by half the room._

 _He grunted. "What the hell does it even matter? We won the war but are about the throw away the peace." He squeezed her hand. "Still I don't have it as bad as some. Squit has to deal with the Heavenly Twins and the thorny reparations issue. I wouldn't touch that with a tent pole."_

 _A boom of thunder disrupted his train of thought._

" _It really is coming down." She looked up to the skies. "Let's duck in here." She was soaked and quivering in the wet clothes._

 _They entered the small cafe and ordered two coffees to warm themselves up._

" _Do you work at the embassy?" She risked. She had followed most of the argument between the two men. "With the Peace Conference?"_

 _He looked slightly wary. "Erm… tangentially." He shifted in his seat. Took a sip of the espresso._

 _She sensed his reluctance. Whether it was because they had kept to the pact not to reveal personal information or that he was under orders from the government, she did not know._

 _He pulled out a packet from his trousers. Lit the cigarette. "Do you mind?" He asked._

 _She shook her head. "Let me try one." He cocked his head in surprise, but lit another and handed it to her. And chuckled when she coughed rather delicately._

" _They are very cheap." He admitted with an apologetic rounded press of his lips. "Acquired taste."_

" _I've seen plenty of women take up smoking." She said gamely giving it another go. "But they have these marvelously long filters."_

" _It's a filthy habit really." He replied. She gave it back to him and he mashed both into the floor and chucked the butts in the bin._

 _The rain continued to roll and rumble outside. They ordered another round of hot coffees._

 _The silence was companionable, but it was clear he did not want to talk about the event at the Embassy._

 _She shivered with cold. "I suppose we should try and risk it?" But the rain did not look at all like it was letting up._

" _Wait here." He gently touched her knee and got up and moved towards the front and approached the proprietor._

"Avez-vous une chambre pour ma femme et moi?" _He turned to glance over at the woman at the table. "_ Elle est froid et a besoin d'un bain chaud et feu pour sécher ses vêtements."

 _The female café owner clucked in sympathy. She said, "_ Une fois que vous êtes dans la chambre, m'envoyer vers le bas la robe et je vais sécher pour madame."

"Merci." _He replied._ _The woman_ _pointed up the stairs. Handed a key over and he paid in cash._

 _He walked back towards their table. "I don't think it's going to let up soon. Let's stay the night here."_

 _She agreed with only a certain nervousness. They had spent plenty of nights together in the past fortnight. But not under the illusion of wedlock._

" _Do you mind?" He sounded troubled. "I don't want you to think…" He trailed off as she took his hand._

 _She knew he lied about their married state to maintain her reputation rather than any untoward assumptions. And his concern for her character touched her._

 _Indeed she was beginning to believe she was in love with him._

 _So she joked to reassure him. "But I'll be very untidy in the morning." She looked down at her already ruined dress. But in all honesty she did not care._

" _I like you that way…." He leaned in to kiss her. Her shiver took on another quality altogether._ _The need to possess him was growing stronger by the minute._

 _When she got up to follow he waved his hand towards the stairs and handed her the key. "After you."_

XX

Mary remembered that love making session. It had been slow and deliberate.

A young maid had followed them up to light the fire in the room. Once she had left, they had taken off their wet garments. Despite the month being in the middle of summer, the day was damp and chilly. The fire was welcome not only to dry the clothes, but heat their bodies.

Matthew had already sent down her dress to be properly washed and cleaned. She was in her chemise and undergarments. Matthew wrapped a blanket around them both as Mary hovered near the hearth to erase the chill. She took off the undergarments to dry along the hearth.

His arms enfolded around her naked flesh. His body sought to share its warmth with her own.

He had started kissing her shoulder. With his lips, he eased the blanket off her shoulder.

"Are you cold still?" He asked, gently as his lips caressed her.

"Not anymore." Her own dark tone matching his own.

As his kisses made way down the beautiful curvature of her back, he eased her down onto to the floor where they had spread other coverlets and duvets. Her hair spilled onto the pillow, arrayed as a crown around her head.

She glowed in the firelight. Matthew's breath caught in his throat. His look, she knew, spoke the same love she too felt. Which neither could at the time articulate.

They had met as anonymous lovers. Had played a game they both enjoyed. It had been daring. Bold and dangerous to meet as they did. Stay as they did.

It had heightened every encounter between them.

He eased the blanket down further to reveal her breasts, shuttering slightly in the chill, in the passion of the moment. Matthew cupped one soft bosom then the other. She closed her eyes, drinking the sensations his lips, his fingers, his hands had upon her body.

Grazing from one to the other in soft nips and pulls, he elicited delicate moans of delight. Mary's own hands roamed free along his back and rear. She felt his aroused state, but wanted to prolong the buildup to mutual pleasure. Her breath was heavy on his neck. His whiskered chin stubbly and stiff.

"You have not shaved in several days." She murmured in his ear. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, showing dark pools of black and blue.

"The better to tickle you with, my darling." He responded, plunging his face and tongue once again into the décolletage between her breasts. His fingers massaged the nipples until they were erect and enflamed. His stubble lightly prickling her skin.

She quivered in delight.

Mary needed to kiss him. Her hands pulled his face up and towards her own. Her mouth met his and their lips and tongues entangled, darting and seeking each other's. Her hands slipped and pulled in his hair. Matthew slid his tongue down and filled her mouth with his own.

Matthew murmured more endearments as his kisses played around her lips.

"My darling…." His voice, hollowed out and dry from desire. "My darling…." As if it was the only coherent thought in his head. His eyes, his eyes that could hide nothing could not longer hide the love he felt for this woman.

Mary had known for certain at that moment they were beyond any mere dalliance. They could playact that this meant nothing, but it would be a lie.

He brushed a random hair across and back behind her ear. Lightly kissed her nose. Mary shivered at his touch.

All of a sudden he became more insistent. She felt it. She wanted it. He moved his kisses down along her abdomen, her heaving belly. His tongue darted and flicked inside the folds that surrounded her inner thighs.

She met him by arching her back. He grabbed her rear, eliciting more shuddering sighs he maintained a rhythm as her body began to rock in sync with his touch. Mary found herself slowly writhing in pleasure hoping his touch would never end. His tongue darted in and out in quick sensations. Other times it lingered and she felt the pressure of his lips. His strokes making her shudder. Making her moan.

Her body ached to fill her up with his own. As she felt her peak rise and the rhythmic contractions of her muscles absorb his touch, his firm tongue she wanted more.

She wanted to shatter into a million pieces with his touch.

Her hands sought to pull him back towards her face. Her teeth, her lips crashed into his. He eased his body back up and plunged into her. Matthew's control was strong. He coaxed and coerced even more moans and hushed gasps from her lips. If possible his thrusting slowed to an excruciating crawl. She gripped his thighs hard and thrust him homeward towards the center of her need, the spot that most demanded complete and utter satisfaction.

He grunted in approval and began to stroke that spot until she thought she'd go mindless from the blinding exultation of that sensation. He took her. He possessed her mind, her body at that moment. The thrusting was deep, concentrated and demanding. She met it with a grinding motion to deepen her own climax. It came in waves of pleasure that wracked her body in sweat. She slumped against the duvet covered floor in delicious exhaustion. The peak of his orgasm coming as he took one final deep thrust. He released and fell down beside her. His arms encasing her own.

Mary, her head back against the pillows, opened her eyes. His were half lidded, languid still with desire.

"This was a very good idea to stay the night here." She murmured.

He nodded in amused agreement. "Oh a very, very nice idea indeed."

XX

 **London: July 1919**

Mary shook herself out of that reverie. She needed to find him as he had once again disappeared without so much as a note.

After Carson retrieved the number of the private investigator she called back Mr. Charles Lovell. He was decidedly unhelpful though, claiming that he worked only for Mr. Crawley and discretion for his clients was above all other considerations. He would only tell her, in answer to her own inquiries, that indeed it had to do with events of the past. That some new evidence, however slight, had come to light and that he had passed on that information to Mr. Crawley.

She thanked him and rang off. Her father calling to her from the dining room.

"Yes Papa we can be off this morning." She walked back into the room. "I told Sybil I would return to be with her and I shall."

"But what about Matthew?"

Mary took heart that her father even now cared about Matthew's whereabouts.

"I think I know where he is. He needs to be on his own for right now."

Robert looked confused, but gave in to Mary's confidence. "I will get on with things then."

Within the hour the household was packed and ready for the return train trip to Downton. Mary was anxious about Matthew. But she had a plan. When they settled back at home, she first moved upstairs to see Sybil.

Sybil was taking a nap. The last trimester taking it all out of her. Tom sat next to her, in a chair. He got up as Mary walked in.

"Don't disturb her." She looked fondly at her sleeping sister. "You both will not soon have such quiet time."

Tom smiled. "I can't wait."

"Tom." Mary approached him. "Could you do me a rather large favor?"

"Of course." He replied, curious as to what his former employer's daughter could possibly need him to do.

"I would like you to travel to Manchester. Matthew has returned to his family home." She stopped, trying to work out how much to tell him. "He has found out some troubling news about some elements of his family history that has been left hidden for some time. He's quite disturbed by it and I think he will need someone to help him sort it all out."

Tom furrowed his brow. "Me? But I should really stay with Sybil…"

"You won't do her much good fussing and pacing around I can assure you. She is in good hands here. I will be with her. And I don't want Matthew to be alone. I know it's a lot to ask, but I would be very grateful." Mary bit her lip slightly. What if he said no? She was quite worried about Matthew' state of mind, but did not think she would be of any help to him. He needed someone more objective. Someone like Tom.

Tom nodded slowly. "I could see that something was worrying him the other night. I can leave by the evening train, shall I? As soon as Sybil wakes up and I can say my good-byes."

Mary's face it up in gratitude. "Thank you so very much. I will be with Sybil every moment, I promise."

And so Tom found his way to Manchester. The train pulled in late. Mary had given him the address. He followed down a couple of streets until he found it.

The hammered knocker reverberated as he struck it. A few moments of silence, then the door opened.

Matthew had changed clothes, but otherwise looked as if he had not eaten or slept in days.

"Tom?" He asked curious, stepping aside to let his brother-in-law inside.

"Mary sent me." Tom's Irish brogue was a bit agitated. Would he be welcome?

Matthew, despite his tired and nerve wracked state, had to smile. "I see." Of course Mary figured out where he would be. "That's very good of her. She's worried about me. I am really fine. Just in the middle of trying to puzzle out certain things."

"Maybe I can be of help?" Tom followed Matthew into the paper strewn former office of Reginald Crawley. It looked as if Matthew had been through every drawer and cupboard and not replaced a single item back in its place. "She said you had found out some disturbing family secret?"

Matthew sighed heavily and pulled at his hair, scratching his skull in thought. "After considerable effort, I finally found what I was looking for." He rubbed his eyes. "My mother and father sent letters back and forth while my father served in the Royal Medical Corps in South Africa. He kept them in a leather bound box at the back of that cabinet." And he pointed to a corner of the room. "I was just about to start reading them. But let's go to the pub down the way and I can bring you up to speed. I think it will do me good to tell the whole story as I see it, and then see if my mother was really attacked in some kind of awful assault while alone at Downton by a distant Crawley relative as the evidence of the lawyer and the investigator seems to suggest."

Tom could not have been more astounded. "And you think that's what happened?"

"I don't know…really don't know." Matthew sounded so tired, so mentally strained. "I've wracked my brain trying to recall these events but I was at school and quite young. But I do know that before Mary and I can move forward at Downton, I cannot let this go until I have it all out in the open."

Tom rolled up his sleeves. "Let's have it at then." He knew now his role. To be the objective mediator in this family scandal. To keep Matthew' head level and not to go off with wild accusations back to Downton. To destroy any potential he and Mary had for a future.

As the other outsider at Downton, Tom could well understand Matthew' position. And he liked how Matthew had accepted him without any class superiority. He'd do what he could to help.

So after finding a room upstairs for Tom to put his bag, Matthew led him down the street to the local pub where they grabbed a table and ordered some corned beef sandwiches with red potatoes and cabbage with two pints to down it all with.

Matthew started to explain, "I don't want this to change what we have. But if I find out something serious has been covered up, I can't keep it under wraps. Despite Mary's possible objections."

Tom dug into his sandwich. "I'm still in denial about being part of society at all. Concerned with estates and respectability. The old me would put a bomb under the lot of them."

Matthew glanced over. "Were you there?" He asked. "In '16?"

"No." Tom responded bitterly. "But my cousin was shot dead in the street by an English soldier on off chance he was a rebel."

Matthew was well versed in Irish grievances. "The Irish contingent's mischiefmaking in search of legitimizing Home Rule certainly livened things up at the Conference. President Wilson was terrified it would disrupt his hopes for the League. I thought he was ready to jail the lot of them."

"That's the point. Disruption. Disobedience to authorities we no longer wish to recognize as power over us." Tom was getting animated. "I did my small bit. I wanted to get drafted and refuse service, but my heart condition stopped that. I had to improvise." Tom's enigmatic smile only made Matthew that much more curious.

Matthew could not just leave it. He leaned in. "Which was what?"

"I put together a mash of oil and ink and a bit of cowpat all mixed with sour milk in a soup tureen." He was still put out by being unable to accomplish that goal.

To do what precisely?" Matthew choked back a laugh.

"Throw the lot all over a visiting English General. Mr Carson was half out of his mind. He thought I was hiding a gun and was after murder."

Matthew's raucous guffaw forced him to lurch back against the booth's seat. "Well I know plenty of soldiers who would have liked to get back a bit of their own against those that sent us to certain doom just so they could notch a half mile victory."

He held up his pint. "To getting a bit back against those that tried to get you."

Tom lifted and drank to that.

Matthew asked, "Sybil support your efforts?"

"She's a rebel herself you know. Worked with the suffragettes." Tom loved to brag about Sybil's strength of character.

"What?" Matthew was astonished. "Burning buildings and going on hunger strikes?"

Tom explained "She was a bit too young for all that. But she got out to campaign."

Matthew finished his ale. "I admire such passion. You two suit each other."

"You're more than brave taking on Lady Mary." Tom said slipping into old habits.

"You can call her Mary surely." Matthew replied, putting up his hand and gestured they wanted two more pints.

"She eats men for breakfast that is what I'll say. Her last husband ran away clear with tail between his legs." Tom took a swig.

Oh.. I don't think so..." Matthew looked suddenly very happy, "I think she's marvelous."

His tongue loosened by good food, drink, and comraderie, Matthew began to tell Tom all he knew about the secret that threatened to break that fragile bond he had just forged with his wife and their mutual father-in-law.

XX

 _Reviews, comments, opinions all welcome!_

 _We'll plunge into the heart of this story in the next chapter . Matthew will find out what really happened on thatt hunting weekend party in 1901. It will be prove to be both revelatory and cathartic for Matthew. Mary meanwhile will tend to Sybil and reconnect with her beloved sister as well as try to make amends with Edith. The three sisters will care for Sybil as the first contractions of childbirth create a certain amount of panic at Downton. Tom and Matthew will return for the birth._


	11. Ch 11: Tout est Bien qui Finit Bien

XX

Matthew had not shaved in days. It was a good thing it was only he and Tom in the house. Cousin Violet might have called him the 'wild man of Borneo' otherwise.

Mary might like it though, he mused. A slow, relaxed smile crossed his face at the thought of Mary. In her arms once again. Preferably in their small bedsit in Paris, decadently naked in the middle of day with nothing else on the agenda but more love making.

She always managed to calm him. Even when apart, she had the same effect.

A week ago he had left London to return to Manchester. After the phone call from the inquiring agent had told him about an assault on his mother. Or at least the investigation of such on behalf of his father. That it had happened at Downton during a visit in 1900, just as Matthew had thought. His mother leaving so abruptly early the following year. Visiting him in what he remembered as being an agitated state when she said a tearful goodbye at his school.

Matthew seethed with righteous anger at the thought all the way back to him boyhood home on the train. Tom had arrived late in the day and they had gone out for a meal. Both had retired soon after, Matthew giving him some bedding material for the guest room and leaving Tom to set it up himself.

Early the next morning he telephoned Mary to finally confirm his whereabouts. He had assumed, correctly it turned out, that she would figure out where he was on her own. So he never really gave it a thought.

He went into his father's study to make the call. Mary had asked her father a line of the telephone be strung to her bedroom on the day of their honeymoon return from Paris. Robert had scowled at the notion she needed it, but reluctantly agreed that as his adult daughter, newly re-married to a man whose business sometimes took him across the continent, deserved some privacy.

The installation had taken place while they were in London, so that when Matthew called Carson put the call direct to their bedroom.

She answered after several rings, sounding rather tired and cross. "Hello." He could tell just by the quality of her voice she was put out. And not just by his early call.

"My darling," he put on his very best intimate tone, "I know I'm trying your patience. I did mean to call earlier but things… " He hesitated and sighed. "…Things have taken up my mind. It was very good of you send Tom though. I'm sorry I didn't leave a note about my coming back to Manchester, but I made the decision rather rashly and I was on the train before … well before I thought about it."

Mary knew all that. "I know Matthew. You were ever like that in Paris. Only ever thinking of yourself." She hadn't meant for it to come out so accusing, but he should now be more considerate. He was a married man and more mindful of such things.

He felt her reproach. Knew he deserved it. "I hope you're not too angry with me, darling. It's just that I'm still not used to having any one to tell, is all." He completed his thought, "but it is rather nice."

"Just as long as you don't do it again." Mary pushed the pillows back against the headboard. Anna had come in to open the room and see if breakfast should be brought up. Mary nodded assent and waited to say any more to Matthew until after she left the room.

"I promise to do better." Matthew said, relieved she was being so understanding. "Tom told me that you called Mr. Lovell, so you know what I've been up to."

"Well he wouldn't tell me much. Just that it had to do with events in the past." Mary knew there was so much more to this story. "Does it connect to your father? As you suspected?" She asked this cautiously, not wanting to bring up the suicide that was still so painful to Matthew.

But it was. Matthew bit his lip before he answered. He had been through the rather brusque inquest where they had simply confirmed suicide without further investigation. Matthew's conversations with Lovell were equally vague. It seemed to go round and round without solution. Matthew had been determined to find more evidence. But so far he had turned up nothing.

"Yes." He answered Mary. "I still believe their is a connection. I believe my father suspected your papa's first cousin, James Crawley, of making untoward sexual intent upon his wife while she visited Downton in 1900." His blunt accusation left Mary stunned.

"What?" She could hardly believe it. "I've never heard any family story like that."

"It was all hushed under the carpet of course." He knew he was getting angry again, but he couldn't help it. "The family closed ranks didn't they? Left us out in the cold."

"Oh really Matthew. Do you have to always believe the worst of the aristocracy?"

"Do I have to remind you what happened to Father?" His words bitter and short.

Mary exhaled in frustration. "You don't know that Matthew. You're only connecting things together."

"Are you against me in this?" He spat out, only a second later wanting to take that back. He knew he was just venting his anger upon Mary. Anger he felt not against her, but the whole situation.

"No." She replied coolly, "But I am also not going to accept accusations against family members where there is no real proof."

"That's what I'm looking for here." He told her. "But…." He trailed off, "but I haven't found anything."

"Perhaps because there's nothing to find." She retorted.

They left the line silent as each gathered their thoughts. And not complete the dueling recriminations.

"Mary…" Matthew's more contrite voice returned to the conversation. "I am sorry. So very, very sorry. I do miss you so very much. I think it's the strain getting to me."

"Are you sleeping?" Mary knew he wasn't. He was ever the one to toss and turn all night, even when they were relaxing in Paris. His back hurt him more than he let on. He grumbled names occasionally. Ones that only he knew. "I hope you and Tom are eating?"

Matthew said, "Tom's anxious to get back to Sybil. I'm putting him on a train in the next day or two. I'll be fine on my own. We go down to the pub for meals."

"When will you be back? You're coming for the birth of course?" Mary was not so subtlety reminding again of him of own marital responsibilities. "To be with the family."

"Yes." He replied firmly. "Telephone me and I'll be there. But I just want to look through a few more things…."

"I understand." Mary knew he needed to get this out of his system. Before they could properly begin any married life. "But not too long."

He heard the ache in her voice.

"Not too long, my love." Matthew said. "I am no longer completely myself without you."

She rang off and put the receiver back in its cradle. Sipped her coffee. Now that she was remarried she did relish once again being able to take her breakfast in the quiet of her room.

She looked to his empty side of the bed.

But she so hankered to be in Matthew's arms. He just had to get back.

Crunching on her toast and jam Mary gave deep consideration to Matthew's accusations. Would such an attack have been possible without her ever hearing of it? She had been just a child, of course. In the schoolroom with the governess or out riding most of the time. She remembered the grand balls and parties her grandparents held at Downton. The country week end shootings as well.

But no gossip had ever reached her ears about any such thing.

Perhaps Matthew had gotten it all wrong?

XX

Matthew relaxed his shoulders. Pulled his neck one way than the other. The headache still throbbed, but it was now just a consistent dull pain.

Now several days later, he was no closer to an answer.

He grunted and pulled himself up and back at the stack of papers. Why did his father leave every single piece of medical ephemera he ever wrote?

Maybe there was nothing. Tom was beginning to think so, Matthew knew. He just didn't want to say. Tom had gone through the office drawers as well as Matthew. Matthew had taken his parents' bedroom and the closets.

Nothing.

There were letters of course. His father kept all the letters Isobel had inscribed over the years. He thought he had struck the mother lode when he found the ones indicating she was to meet Reggie in South Africa. They were tersely written for sure, Matthew thought. Compared to the others written while she was still in Manchester. Those were breezy missives, full of local gossip about Dr. Crawley's patients and glowing reports of his own achievements at Rugby in academics or cricket.

The ones after the incident at Downton, only obliquely referenced as a most eventful night, were more rushed and concise. She seemed to be keeping something close to her heart. Something she could only tell Reggie in person.

Thus no evidence. Thus no legal case to answer. That's exactly what the solicitor had told him. When Matthew continued to pester the man with question after question. And why the detective had no further action to take.

A dead end.

So he'd never really know what happened to his mother at Downton. Matthew's hand unconsciously rubbed his forehead.

He had his speculation of course. That James Crawley had taken advantage of a young woman away from her husband at a strange house for a country week end. He assumed she was innocent of the ways people like them entertained themselves. The hijinks they got up to when bored after the shooting or hunting or whatever had ended. After drinks, after cigars. What else was there to do?

Matthew tortured himself with such thoughts. Why was she ever there, he wondered. It had been answered in a letter. Isobel had told Reggie she had taken his counsel and agreed to get a way for a bit while he was in the war in South Africa. He had worried, with Matthew away at school, and herself alone in Manchester, that she needed some friends. Some family.

So she went.

How scared she must have been? How angry his father must have been upon finding out. Unable to do anything until he returned from South Africa. How it must have ate at him all these years, until when he could take no legal avenue of justice, he found himself the surprising heir to that very estate. James Crawley had gone down on the Titanic. His son died in the war.

Reggie couldn't face it. After Isobel's death in Paris he had been more depressed than ever. Not well at all. Matthew had known it. But he himself was so down in his own haze of depression following the war that he ignored his father's funk. Had let him stay in Manchester with his books and his memories. While Matthew stayed in Paris, working out his enlistment at the Paris Peace Conference

and ….

He made himself think it…. Making sweet, impassioned, blind love to a strange woman for weeks on end. Absorbed in the sensuality of her skin, her bodily scent. Letting himself be consumed in the moment.

All the while his father ….

Matthew threw some papers in a tumble on the floor. His father contemplated suicide rather than face the family that had so disgraced his wife. And here he was, married into that same family.

He should have been there with his father. At the end.

He got up and moved into the sitting room. Poured himself a drink and looked at the clock. After midnight. Too late to call Mary. To find comfort in her voice.

He had put Tom on the morning train. He intended to follow the next day. He heard Mary's intonation that he was expected back at Downton. But he had just wanted to look at the papers once again.

But now that he was alone, the demons began to scratch the corners of his mind. So he wallowed in his grief. In his guilt some more…

XX

Mary was shocked to read her own name in the _Daily Sketch_. Anna had discretely brought the paper up with the breakfast tray.

The breezily written bit took note that she and her "latest" husband, the conveniently placed new heir to Downton, were already living separate lives. Perhaps marry in haste repent in leisure is at work here, the article implied. There had been rumors of family dissention to the marriage, as it was so fast and rather reckless. Suspicions abounded that the lady was in the family way upon their hastily arranged nuptials in Paris so as to hide the exact date of conception.

Rolling her eyes, Mary groaned internally. Having already gone through some of this same scandal sheet mongering with her divorce from Tony, she knew this was a possibility. One reason for her hesitation to accept Matthew's impromptu proposal to flee back to Paris and marry was just this sort of black mark against her. But she had been swept off her feet by him. By his intensity. By his passion. Every fibre of her being ached for him to hold her right now.

They had been parted over a week now. He was still in Manchester scouring his parent's house for letters or diaries that would explain the mystery surrounding his father's suicide. He was convinced it was connected to an event that happened to his mother while she visited Downton.

Mary was not so sure. She was better informed about aristocratic house parties than Matthew. And the attack of a young woman in the bedrooms was dubious.

So what really did happen with Matthew's mother Isobel?

Her reflection was interrupted by Sybil's nurse. Her sister's contractions has started too early and Dr. Clarkson insisted that they hire a day/night nurse to keep an eye on her and make the move to the hospital in case an emergency birth was needed.

Upon the nurse telling her the birth process had begun, Mary sprang out of bed and put on her dressing gown.

"Is Tom with her?" She asked.

"Mr. Branson attended Lady Sybil through the night, but has gone downstairs upon the beginning of her confinement."

Mary knew this to be traditional. Men were not allowed in the private chambers of women in the throes of labour.

They were probably best left out anyway, Mary thought. They'd just be in the way.

"Very well." She told nurse Treadwell. "I'll be in directly." When the nurse shut the door, Mary turned to the telephone.

Matthew had promised to return to York, and he did so upon hearing Mary's news. He said he wrap things up and close up the house and be there by the afternoon.

Mary rang off and went to see her sister.

"How are you my dear?" She said, sitting on the bed and taking Sybil's hand. It was slippery from sweat. The heat of the mid-summer was not helping her sister's noticeable discomfort.

"Edith is returning on the morning train. She should be here any minute." Mary had been told as much by Anna who had taken the telephone call down in the hall. Edith had been to see her publisher in London.

"Do you have a cool cloth?" Sybil asked. Mary retreated to a bowl in the corner and dipped the cloth in the basin. Returned to her sister and soothingly wiped down her face and cheeks.

"Where is Tom?" Sybil turned to Mary. "I don't see why he has to go. I mean really, it is his child as well."

"It's the custom of things, darling. Papa is already so flustered I don't think it's time to start yet another rebellion with him."

"No," Sybil conceded, "perhaps you're right." She smiled. "Is Dr. Clarkson coming?"

"He's on his way. Although I'm sure he'll say it's just more false alarms. The womb preparing for birth." Mary smoothed down the light bedding around her sister.

"He says I'm the model of health and beauty." Sybil laughed. "I feel quite the opposite. Bad tempered and ready for this baby to make its appearance."

She turned to Mary. "I know you said you'd investigate a specialist. Did you? While in London?"

Mary replied cautiously, "I made perhaps one or two discrete inquiries. There is a Dr. Ryder who specializes in fertility."

"Well now. That's better. I do want our children to be raised together."

"Are you staying in England? Does Tom have some prospects?"

Sybil conceded, "No. He wants to return to Dublin. He's started this job as a journalist and wants to be there for the activity on Home Rule. I do want to be with him."

"Is it dangerous?" Mary knew of the acts of revolutionary violence by the IRA and the crackdown of the British government.

"It can be." Sybil replied. "I don't want Tom mixed up in it all. I tell him he can go to work for a London paper, but he wants to be a part of it all."

The two women exchanged concerned glances. "Better the longer he stays here then." Mary concluded. "Neither of you are going back any time soon. The baby won't be able to travel for months."

Sybil leaned back against the pillows. "Yes. I take comfort in that." She took Mary's hand. "What are Matthew's hopes? Now that he's out of the army."

"He's very vague about it. I have to pin him down when he gets here this afternoon. We can't possibly go forward with any family ideas until I know his circumstances in life." Mary knew that might sound too practical for her romantically inclined sister, but it was how she felt. Knowing Matthew was deeply involved in the peace process in Paris and adept at diplomacy and languages was a strong reason why she agreed to marry him. He had a future ahead of him. He could be anything from Lord Chancellor to an ambassador, possibly even Prime Minister. If he only would stop being so footloose and careless about his own prospects.

His eyes twitched every time she mentioned a more sedate future for them. A look of disquiet crossing his face, as if he could not contemplate being so tied down. Not that he said so. He said he wanted to be with her. Wanted to work out their current difficulties. Understood his responsibilities to the Crawley name and Grantham title.

But understanding it, and actually embracing such a future, were two different things. He was acknowledging the first and avoiding the latter.

And her own concerns about being barren also played into her worry. She knew her duty. Especially now that she was married to the heir. If there was any way to confirm her fears she should take the opportunity. See the specialist in London. Matthew had confided to her while in London, after the Victory March, he had never actually substantiated his own sterility with a specialist. It was just something one of the doctors at the London General Hospital had told him upon his long recovery from the spinal shock.

But he pointedly told her, his brief marriage to Lavinia had produced no children. Though he admitted that they had, in real fact, very little time together.

"And she had been a rather nervous bride."

"What does that mean exactly?" Mary asked. She seldom pried into the pain of his married life, but these details were important.

He sighed and gave a guarded look. Was it a betrayal to say? But the truth was the truth. "The act itself was rather painful for her. The…the penetration." He stumbled a bit. "I never really managed to fully complete…"

Mary stayed his hand. She understood.

And there they had left things. He had disappeared back to Manchester early the next day. She had returned to York and had been caring for Sybil, along with the nurse and now Tom for the past several days.

The birth was progressing normally, Dr. Clarkson said. She was young and healthy. It was taking its course.

So after staying with her until Tom had his breakfast and it was confirmed that yet again, they were false contractions, he returned to be with his wife.

Sybil said to Mary at the door of her bedroom, "Come back and we can finish that conversation. I think you should see this Dr. Ryder as soon as possible." And she arched her back as another stab of pain hit her. "After all birth is a joy, right?" And they both laughed.

Mary closed the door quietly. Retreated downstairs to find her mother. She had to occupy her mind with things other than Sybil. And settling her future with Matthew in part depended upon the resolution of his obsessive need to find out what happened in 1900 and thus complete the mystery surrounding the tragedy of his father's death.

Her mother was in the library, fiddling around with some committee minutes, though Mary could tell her mother's mind was far away from the idleness of a Garden Club and upstairs to her youngest daughter.

"Mama." Mary entered the room. "When is Granny expected?"

"I telephoned and told her that if she felt up to it, she could expect the chauffeur to be at her house within the hour."

"I see." Mary said . "Could we sit and talk, then? Before things begin to happen?"

"Of course my dear." Cora swiveled in the desk chair. "Is everything as it should be upstairs?"

"Dr. Clarkson said everything progressing. Nothing to worry about. He's to return later this afternoon. Tom is with her again."

The two women took seats on the red velvet divan.

Mary started to speak. "You might have wondered why Matthew left London so abruptly last week."

And indeed Cora had. But so much of that young man's personality was closed off to her, she left him to Mary. Mary seemed to be the only one he gravitated towards whenever the family gathered together. They closed out everyone else. They needed only each other.

"It did seem rather rude." She said. "Going off like that without a word to anyone. Especially after your father and he seemed to be making amends."

"He had some news. On the telephone that set him off. It has to do with an incident he's discovered. Something in Downton's past that he's connected in his head to events surrounding the death of Reginald Crawley."

"His father who took his own life?" Cora was confused. "How could we have anything to do with that?"

"Well that's the thing. Matthew believes his father was so distraught over becoming heir to this estate that he could no longer live."

"Isn't that a being a bit dramatic?"

"Not to Matthew."

"Well what is this event supposed to have been?"

"He believes he's uncovered allegations that his mother was assaulted while here at Downton for a shooting party in 1900."

"Assaulted?"

"By a man. In her bedroom, while alone and unattended. She had no maid with her most probably."

"A man? Who?" Cora was dumbfounded.

"James Crawley." Mary finally let the name slip.

"James? Absurd." Cora scoffed. "I mean he was a rake, but it is out of the question he'd ever take advantage of a young lady on her own. When was this again?"

Mary tried to remember all the details Matthew had inferred. "Just that there was either a hunting or shooting party. I guess shooting, as she doesn't hunt. But come to mind, she wouldn't be shooting either. I don't know. He believed his mother had been invited presumably by Granny or Grandfather. And during the night she was assaulted in some way."

Cora was silent for a good while. "No no. She came with another couple. As a companion for the wife while the husband was out shooting. I remember now. Yes, that was quite the palaver."

"You remember Isobel being attacked?" Mary was astonished.

"No. Not attacked. Of course not. He's got it all mixed up." Cora put her hand to her brow in thought. "Isobel if I remember gave back as good a shock as she got." And she laughed suddenly. "Threw him right out on his ear and brought the house down with her shouts of 'Get out you filthy beast.'"

Mary's mouth twitched in humour. "But Matthew's seems under the impression…"

"Yes well boys will think their mother's slight and soft won't they. No. Sadly your father's cousin tried to, what shall we say?...woo Isobel all the evening with sweet talk. And she must have seemed to at least go along, so when we all retired, he got his man to find her room, and hid inside while she bathed. When she returned, that's when the shouting began."

Cora got up to refresh her cup of tea. "I did try to reach out to her. But she was dressed and out of the house walking to the train station before I could even put on my dressing gown. We had a house boy trailing behind her carrying her luggage."

Mary said, "It must have had some effect upon her however. Matthew said she made a sudden visit to his school in a most agitated state and made for South Africa to be a nurse soon after."

"Your Granny was most put out by the whole thing. Never completely forgave James for making such a fool of himself and ruining the numbers for her week end. She had invited another distant elderly cousin to be there as well. With Isobel gone, there were odd numbers for dinner."

"Mama, you don't condone such activities." Mary felt the need to stick up for Matthew's mother. "She was the one almost attacked."

"Bed games they call it." Cora shrugged. "What the English get up to of an evening I was told when your papa and I attended our first country house party. Not that it ever happened to me."

"Oh Mama." Mary spoke. "But Granny must have tried to contact Isobel. To apologize or something?"

"I think she wanted to forget the whole thing." Cora dismissed it. "And who wouldn't?"

"Swept under the carpet after all." Mary sighed. "Matthew was partially right there. His father tried to conduct some kind of investigation. See if some kind of reparation made towards his wife. But nothing came of it."

"Nothing to do about it. Men will be men." Cora said. "I'm sure he was taken aside by Papa and scolded in private."

"Surely that can't have been the reason, then for Reginald Crawley's suicide. I mean Isobel would have told him nothing happened. And that she gave back her own." Mary was more confused than ever.

"Then what?" Cora replied. "Why does Matthew think that in the first place? It could be a horrible coincidence that as soon as found out he was heir, he could no longer find the sanity within himself to continue living. Was he ill?"

Mary turned. "I don't know. No one has said as much."

"Matthew was away though? Right. In Paris." Cora looked Mary in the eye. "With you?"

Mary returned her mother's direct gaze. She refused to be ashamed about their time alone. "Partially yes. I left before he found out about his father. About being heir. I was already back in England."

"He's feeling guilty I think." Cora concluded. "For being away. For not knowing his father was most probably severely ill."

"Guilty?" Mary said, almost to herself. He did sound so distraught on the telephone. Saying he should have been there. "I need to get to the bottom of this Mama. I don't think we can move on together until he eases him mind about it."

Groans from upstairs could be then heard by the two women.

"I must go to Sybil, my dearest. You'll figure something out." Cora patted Mary's hand and retreated back up to the confinement room.

Mary paced the carpeting, glancing at the clock. Matthew was due in a couple of hours. Suddenly she remembered someone she could call. To check up on some facts.

"Carson," She asked when the butler responded to her call. "Could you get the number of the Manchester Police station? I would like to speak to their Chief Inspector."

"Yes my lady." Carson was taken aback. "Anything wrong with Mr. Crawley?" He believed the young heir presumptuous and immodest in his actions towards his favorite, but he would never openly show disfavor upon the man Mary chose to be her husband.

"No. Just please transfer the call to my room when you get it." And she left to check on Sybil.

XX

"Sybil try not to push. The baby is not crowning yet. Dr. Clarkson is on his way. The nurse has gone down to greet him and get him up to speed on your progress." Edith said.

Cora was patting down her daughter's sweat soaked brow.

"I'm trying Mama. But this baby wants out. I can feel it." She was exhausted from the two days of pain and stress. "I want this baby out.. Ah AAH.."

"Where is Tom?" Sybil demanded. "I want him…"

Edith and Mary threw glances at each other. Should they get him?

Cora stepped in. "Nonsense. Tom is downstairs with your papa and Matthew. Granny Violet will keep everyone informed. He'll be up after the baby's born."

Mary moved to the other side of the bed and climbed next to Sybil. "Men are always helpless when a baby's in the picture. Leave them all to their drinks and pacing."

Sybil's face grimaced and nodded. The shooting pain in her back was unrelenting.

Then Dr. Clarkson entered the room with the nurse. "Is everything to hand, nurse?" He asked assessing the situation to be the actual birth this time.

"There there Lady Sybil. It's very soon now."

Sybil's grunting and moans echoed down the hall

XX

Mary opened the library door. "You can come up now Tom. It's a healthy beautiful girl."

Tom turned swiftly towards the exit. "And…. They're both …both safe? Fine?"

"Absolutely yes." Mary assured him. "She's fine. Sybil's resting. It wasn't easy, but she's a trooper."

"Well that is a relief." Violet said, taking a step towards the door. "Hallelujah" she said under her breath and sat down again. The emotions were too overwhelming at the moment.

"Hallelujah." Robert echoed.

"The nurse will stay with her. And Mama. I'll take a turn as well." Mary said, realizing Matthew was making a move towards Mary. She hardly had any time to greet him when he arrived late in the afternoon. He had knocked on the upstairs door, she came out just to tell him that she needed to be with Sybil just then, and sent him back downstairs to be with Robert and Tom.

"Is everything truly fine?" He asked quietly.

"Yes. Dr. Clarkson was concerned for a bit about the baby's weight. But she's bawling and giving good healthy cries."

Matthew smiled. "You look very pale yourself, my darling. Have you had any rest?"

"Nothing to speak of. But that's the way of it." Mary said. "How is Tom holding up?"

"Oh you know, nervous and happy all at the same time. He'll make an excellent father though. He loves Sybil so much." Matthew took his wife's hand. Gripped it tight.

Their glances indicated both had the same thought. Could the same ever be said of them? Would they ever have the opportunity to become parents?

"Matthew we need to talk." Mary said. "I have some news which, while I think will disturb you in the short run, will go a long way to explaining all the mysteries you've been looking for answers to."

Matthew cut a look towards her. "Let's retired upstairs then, shall we?" He looked around. "Everyone else is getting ready to do so."

Mary nodded. "Let me first check on Sybil again. I'll meet you in our room after you're ready."

Edith was still in Sybil's room. Cleaning up. "Habit from the war. When we all pitched in with the convalescees." She said to Mary.

"Yes. You were quite a help this evening."

"We all did our bit." Edith turned to Sybil in the bed. "Please try to get some sleep."

Sybil held her daughter tight in her arms. "She wants to feed. Nurse is going to show me how. Tom will be back soon, I want to try now."

"Of course." Mary said. She knew her sister was insistent that she be a part of every aspect of her child's rearing. "Let the nurse get the baby ready." And she handed the swaddled infant over to nurse Treadwell.

Sybil reached out her hands to her sisters. "Thank you for being here. We should remember this time together. As sisters should."

Mary took Edith's hand as well. "She ever is the one that thinks the best of us. That we are nice people."

"You are." Sybil retorted. "When you try to be. Let's try to be so now."

Edith and Mary leaned down to embrace their youngest sibling. "Let's love each other for this moment. We can always row again in the morning."

They all shared a laugh and a hug. Then the nurse shooed them out the door as Sybil returned to the ministrations of her baby.

Mary returned to find Matthew waiting up for her.

XX

Matthew sat propped with the pillows behind his head listening intently to Mary's recounting her conversations of earlier in the afternoon.

"Mother did what?" Matthew was incredulous. "Of course Father was right to try to pursue charges of attempted assault. Even if it turned to naught."

"I'm afraid affairs here and there for many in the aristocracy is something to do after dinner. And many are willing participants." Mary explained.

Matthew sneered. "Not in my mother's case!" But then he quietly guffawed. "Well she showed them anyway." He pulled on his hair absent mindedly.

"Why were her letters so terse? So not like her." He was still taking in what Mary had told him.

"She must have just wanted to get out there. To explain in person. I understand missing someone so much you just want to drop everything and go. Especially if you needed to get something off your chest." Mary said.

Matthew kissed the top of her head. Taking in her scent. Feeling the strands of her hair tickle his lips.

"You found all this out? Just today?" He was astonished at her activity. "I've wracked my brains trying to figure out what happened."

"You were looking in the wrong place." Mary replied evenly. "Once I knew nothing happened at Downton, the answer had to lie in Manchester."

Matthew scratched his jawline. He had shaved once in the morning to prepare for his arrival at Downton, only to have to do so again as to be presentable to the family and Mary later that evening. It now stung from his after balm.

"So you're telling me you spoke with my father's doctor? I didn't even know he had a new doctor. There were no records or letters at home."

"The police inspector put me on to him. It was just one or two visits. Dr. Hudson was a specialist. A cancer specialist."

Matthew swallowed hard. "I see." He tightened his jaw muscles. "Father had cancer then."

"Of the pancreas and liver. He was in a great deal of pain, Dr. Hudson said. But he did not want you bothered while you worked in Paris." Mary tried to ease her husband's guilt.

But it did no good.

"And he killed himself because of it?" Matthew went pale. "Rather than endure the pain? But what about the letter in his hand? The one about the inheritance? How does that play into things?"

Mary knew Matthew wasn't thinking straight. He was letting his emotions cloud his reason. She moved closer to him on the bed. Took both his hands into hers.

"I think…" She started gently, "I think although we can never be sure, that he wanted to give it to you. A legacy. A new start in life." His hand squeezed hers hard as she spoke. "He knew his time was ending. And you would make a much better heir to the Earl of Grantham. You'd do the family proud."

Matthew's jaw went slack as some tears edged down his cheek bones. He wiped them away. "He was ever the best of men," his words soft and lovingly spoken.

He touched her cheek with his wet finger. "You are so wonderful. Thank you for finding all that out for me."

"It's nothing." She demurred.

"It's the very opposite, my darling. It means we can move forward. With a clean slate. A fresh future."

"Good." She pulled him down for a kiss.

"You can do that again." He said, when she moved away from his lips.

"I most certainly will." Mary's mouth reached for his. "But you must promise to never leave so abruptly without word ever again. We're in this all together."

"On the same team, eh?" His lips tickled her skin as he placed gentle kisses all along her neck line.

"The very same." Her words spoken in heated tones as Matthew's lips fell towards her breasts and she succumbed to his touch.

XX  
Much later in the early dawn, Mary checked in on Sybil. Matthew was in a deep slumber after their love making. He grumbled, but did not wake up for once.

Sybil was ensconced in Tom's loving arms. They too slept soundly and perfectly.

The baby in the bassinet right near at Sybil's hand. She cooed softly, gnawing on her tiny fists.

All's right with the world for once, Mary thought as she gently closed the door behind her. Let's not disturb anyone.

XX

 _Thus ends this part of the story. I hope you like so far. Please review!. It will still take some twists and turns – a raucous party for MM to attend, some hijinks of their own, and the introduction of Rose MacClare, who has her own eye on Matthew…. Who is getting a bit restless in his boring diplomacy job…. What could come of all that?_


	12. Chapter 12: Ensemble et séparément

_His hands roaming._

 _His fingers tantalizing._

 _His face concentrated._

 _His eyes hooded._

 _His mouth seductive._

 _His lips full._

 _His cheeks flushed._

 _Mary had taken all that in. She lived in the moment. She was not sure how long it was to last. The man had been a stranger._

 _And now he was her husband._

 _They had made love with abandon. Knowing that at any minute, any day they would have to part. It had made every coupling intense._

 _Touch at first was wanton. They hurt each other with their touch. He bruised. She scratched._

 _As if to know it was real. They had to feel the pain._

 _That eased as they began to intuit each other._

 _He identified where his touch made her scream in ecstasy._

 _She knew her caress shattered him._

 _Every time feeling became more loving._

 _Before they knew, before they acknowledged it, they were in love._

 _It made everything more exhilarating. The fact they never spoke of it only heightened the emotion._

 _They knew it. They did not need to say it._

 _It spoke in their eyes._

 _Even then the love only lowered their inhibitions further._

 _All things were possible._

 _His tongue strayed into her most private regions. She opened herself up to his stroking, his lips and teeth, nibbling._

 _She had him take all of her, slowly._

 _And he did so. He was exquisitely leisurely with his touch. His devouring made her limp, wet, close to losing control._

 _Then she craved for him to go vigorously, so he deliberately relaxed, taking her to a plateau of aching, trembling need that threatened to diminish her sanity._

 _He then stopped altogether. He left her sweet spot. She was bereft. Lost without contact to his body. He was her addiction._

 _He knew it. He deliberately withheld her fix. Until her rasping voice begged him for more._

 _And he came to her rescue._

 _He continued, leaving her breathless with vigorous thrust after thrust with his tongue that grated against the ridge he knew from her panting screams and shuddering thighs was making her delirious and barely conscious of his exertions. She demanded he finish her no matter his exhaustion._

 _Her release left her transfixed, vacant of anything other than how her body felt more alive than at any other moment of her life._

Sigh…

God, Mary thought, what'd she give to feel that night again?

Instead she was at Downton, alone, reading Karen Ancell's journal article "The Motherhood Mandate" emphasizing the woman's primary role in any fertility problem. That men follow women in sexual matters and that it was best to limit your excitement in any sexual encounter, for that would relax the womb and make conception potentially easier to manage.

Dr. Ryder had not given much credence to the idea, saying it was as outdated as William Acton's notion that women didn't have sexual feelings at all, but his solution of an intrusive medical examination was not something Mary wanted, unless she absolutely had to.

So she concluded she would try the more passive approach. It made a strange kind of logic. To rest and open herself up to conception. Not get too agitated by passion and thus close up the passage to her uterus. To be submissive rather than demand satisfaction.

Utterly dull, Mary concluded, but if it achieved the end of her having the long awaited heir, it would be worth it.

She did not tell Matthew her plan. Better he be left ignorant. He was preoccupied as it was. He had accepted the London Foreign Office job. Mary was to remain at Downton for the near future, at least until their housing arrangements were finalized.

But the strain was already showing. It had made the week before he was to leave for Paris to start his new position the most strained of their new marriage.

It seemed to Matthew that Mary had arbitrarily decided to visit her aunt Rosamund just a few days before he was to depart. When he offered to leave early with her, she said it was not necessary as he'd be bored at the dressmakers. Instead he spent the time getting to know Robert and taking his first extensive tour of the estate. Matthew had enjoyed that. More than he expected. But he was glad Mary was home.

The night before he was to leave she had returned from London, hiding her visit to Dr. Ryder. They retired early to bed. Matthew had taken that as a hopeful signal that they would have some long awaited time alone. At first he wanted to follow her in their bedroom immediately. Despite Molesley waiting for him at his own dressing room, a bit further down the corridor.

Mary put him off, "Matthew, go get changed. I'll be ready for you in about half an hour."

He furrowed his brow, but obeyed.

The book was already right, Mary observed. Men do follow women's lead. She hated putting him off. He looked so dejected. But it had to be done.

Later, he knocked and she said a quiet "come in." And he sat and watched her nightly rituals in the armchair beside her dressing table, his favorite spot. To make conversation, he told her of his intentions to stay with his friend. He was to bunk temporarily with the Purefoys as he and Mark prepared the details of their trip to France.

"I think it jolly good of him to offer. They have a spare room that usually goes to her mother. But she's off in the Alps somewhere on some kind of water cure." But his attention had strayed.

"How long will you be away?" Mary was taking the pins out of her hair. Anna had been called away on some kind of emergency downstairs. She really needed to talk to her mother about finalizing Anna's role as her lady's maid.

Matthew's mouth was slightly open, watching her hair cascade down. He swallowed thickly, "Can I help you?"

Mary looked guarded. "No." She was going to have to watch herself as almost any of these activities would have led to a mad love making session. She normally loved he paid such close attention. Usually she led him to the bed, dangling one long limbed arm outstretched towards him. "I'm done."

She moved towards the bed. Matthew, taking time to throw his dressing gown onto a chair, followed. Bringing their conversation back to her question, "The length of my stay in Paris is entirely in Sir Eyre's hands. He's advising Curzon and I'm his dogs' body." He grumbled.

"It will be as tedious as watching water boil." He crawled over the covers to meet her. A long, deep kiss followed. "But all that can keep. I'm here with you now. That's all I want to think about."

He made a move towards her neckline.

But Mary, using all the willpower within, denied him. She cautioned, "the trip has tired me out." The article had said a couple should not make love more than twice in a fortnight, to allow the womb time to recover. And they had already done so the evening before she had left for her London trip.

Matthew backed away, blinking and confused. He kissed her lightly. "I understand. Shall I read instead?" And he reached for the latest volume of _The Forsyte Saga_.

She could hear the regret in his voice, even as he tried to mask it with conversation. "I think we left off with Irene and Bosinney." And he regained his composure as he began to narrate.

He left for London the following morning. He'd be gone several weeks.

Mary's time was spent helping out with Sybil. But mostly finding herself at loose ends. Sybil gave birth to the little girl Tom insisted would be named Sybbie as she was the very image of her mother. They were both healthy and happy.

Mary realized in a sharp pang of jealousy, watching the three of that little family together, she wanted it too. She wanted a baby. She wanted one with Matthew. It had come over her sudden like. A realization of the truth of things. Hard truths she seldom liked to address head on. Not just that it was their duty. Her reason for living, if some of her father and grandmother's comments were taken on face value.

But that it was something she wanted. To have a child, children. A family with Matthew. And it was something he wanted as well. Though he never said it, she saw it in his eyes. A few days after Sybbie's birth, as they visited with Sybil and Tom in the new day nursery set up in an empty chamber of the second floor, Sybil handed the cooing infant to Matthew. He held out his hands to carefully clasp the baby's head and body, he released her from Sybil's arms.

A tear ran down his cheek, but his smile was incandescent. He walked towards Mary. "Look at her." He had said joyously, "She's just perfection."

The next day Mary made the appointment with Dr. Ryder.

So the weeks following Matthew's departure for London and then Paris filled her with anxiety. Was she doing the right thing in not submitting to Dr. Ryder's examination? It seemed logical to her at the time to try to follow the more natural course of events. To relax her womb, as the article said. To give it time.

But here she was, daydreaming of Matthew making mad passionate love to her.

Surely that wasn't relaxing the womb? But doing the very opposite?

Mary got up from the chair in the library with determination. She needed to do something purposeful. The other thing nagging her mind was finding new living arrangements.

Matthew had asked about it in his latest letter from Paris. He had enjoyed the few days with the Purefoys in Wimbledon and would Mary consider a move to London?

Not to Wimbledon, Mary had internally eye rolled. Too middle class. She tried to correct herself, say that it would not matter to Matthew and it should not matter to her. That the world was different. Such things as class no longer mattered.

But she just couldn't live in Wimbledon.

Mayfair maybe? She'd telephone her Aunt Rosamund and plan another trip to see her. They'd walk around the more upscale neighborhoods and see what was available. Matthew did need to be in London for his work.

His letter had also mentioned his arrival date. He would be back within the fortnight. Just in time he said, for a party being thrown by the MacGuinesses… Would she like to go?

When she arrived at her aunt's house and settled in, she telephoned Matthew in Paris.

" _Allô_ " Matthew answered. " _Que puis-je faire pour vous? Le ministre des Affaires étrangères est pour la journée"_

"Matthew, it's Mary." She removed her earring to better hear him. The static was particularly bad on this line.

"Hello darling." He switched to English. "I have to leave to meet George in a few minutes, so I'm sorry I don't have more time."

"I'm in London with Aunt Rosamund and we're about to go to Gunter's. I was just curious about this party you mentioned. What kind is it?"

"Oh yes. Charlie mentioned it the other day. It's when we're both back in London next week. It's fancy dress I think? But not too fancy if you know what I mean…."

"You mean anything goes?" Mary was catching on to the post war atmosphere of live for today.

"I mean just that." Matthew laughed. "It's bring your own bottle for one thing. No one knows how many will show up on the evening."

"Sound like just the thing to wind down after your trip." Mary replied. "I'll have a look around for what we can wear." Mary did love a good party. They had spent so much time in only each other's company in Paris and on their honeymoon, it would be very different to see him amongst his own friends.

"Wonderful. I've got to go." Matthew rang off. "See you next week. … And Mary…"

She paused before putting up the receiver. "Yes?"

"I miss you so terribly much." His voice, despite even the static, spoke of his longing.

"I know. Me too." Mary knew she'd have to be careful when they reunited next week. He would be eager to get her alone. She'd have to be sure to not allow him too much if she was to give the ideas from that article a fair go.

With that rather depressing thought, she turned towards the sitting room. The chatter emanating from the room told Mary that Rose MacClare had arrived from Scotland. Rosamund had told her cousin that she'd take care of Rose while in London. She had been expecting a quiet sort of girl, she had told Mary. Rose was a lonely only child.

The 20 year old had been a VAD during the war. Not that Mary could see any sign of that seriousness in the cackles and mile a minute monologue of the girl in the window seat. Rosamund looked stunned. This girl had most certainly come out of her shell since the war.

"Daddy's given me quite an allowance to buy some new clothes. I've had nothing since before the war." She told Rosamund. "So I've an appointment with Madame Valmont at 1:00."

"You coming with us to Gunters?" Mary asked. "You can meet us after."

"I'd love it. Tea and cakes are so yummy." Rose said. "Mummy won't let me eat much because she's always going on about my waistline, but I can eat a horse."

"Your mother is quite right to be concerned then," Rosamund rejoined. "If we are to find you a nice young man…"

"Oh no!" Rose declaimed. "I'm not interested in settling down with some stuffy sort. I want to go to all the parties first. Could we possibly go to one of those nightclubs I keep hearing about? Mummy would die, but we won't tell, right?"

Rosamund glanced sharply at the girl. "I rather think we should listen to your mother on that. They are most certainly dens of iniquity."

"Well that's why I want to go!" Rose cried. "One should always try out everything at least once."

Rosamund turned to Mary to save her from this excitable child.

Mary offered, "Perhaps a party instead? My husband and I have been invited to a fancy dress party next Thursday."

Rose shrieked with delight. "Yes please! What kind of dress? Is it one of those where you all dress up like babies and wear nappies?"

Mary and Rosamund exchanged mirror looks of undisguised horror.

"It's all the rage…" Rose noticed. "Perfectly acceptable I assure you. Even among our sort of people."

XX

Matthew examined his wrist watch.

5:45pm. The meeting had been going three hours. And no resolution in sight.

The gift from Mary was treasured. He had an army issue pocket watch during the war. Some had added a leather strap and put it around their wrist. But he had not bothered.

This watch, typical of Mary, was a 9ct rose gold Rolex, first designed to be used on the battlefield, but now in common usage among businessmen.

She had given it to him on their honeymoon.

But even so, time still crawled on. Only a minute had gone since he last glanced down at it.

It was his last day in Paris. He was eager to get back to the hotel and finish packing so that he could catch the train to Calais and the ferry back to England tomorrow morning.

He, along with Charlie MacGuiness, had been summoned to Paris by Sir Eyre Crowe to serve as translator and to transcribe talks with the French over Curzon's desire to prop up the Persian government in Mesopotamia to serve as buffer against potential Russian advances. They were keeping their allies informed of recent progress.

Matthew knew in the great scheme of things this was important. The British had occupied Baku since 1918, supervising the German and Turkish withdrawal. He knew the Russian Revolution had changed the course of history and that the British had to reassess all of their holdings in the Middle East. But he also knew it was in vain. The Russians had the geographic advantage and the British Empire was failing because there was no longer any money, and they held little to no prestige any more on the world stage. That was left up now to the Americans.

Not that he said any of that.

He just wanted to do his job and go home.

To Mary. God he missed her. They had not parted well before he left for the continent. She was all edges and sharp glances. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong. Maybe it was his irritation that she had left to go shopping with her aunt, rather than spend the time with him at Downton.

That was selfish. He was still getting used to this marriage thing. The normality of it all. How very different from when he was in Paris with her. Days on end with just the two of them entwined in the sheets.

He knew even then of course, that she was above him in station. And in style. That those things mattered to her. But it didn't seem to get in the way. Not in his bedsit.

Maybe that was also a source of his impatience. He now completely associated Paris with Mary. And not having her here, made him long for her even more.

Sex was on his mind, he had to admit. A topic still taboo at least in public among the society he now associated, he had decided to investigate his fertility issue. Rather than do it in London, where gossip was mother's milk to everyone, he found a discreet doctor in Paris. A few rather uncomfortable moments in a private room, test samples collected and sent off for examination, and Matthew had his answer.

" _Monsieur Crawley vos tests ont revenir et vous êtes tout à fait en mesure de procréer_." The doctor looked over his spectacles at Matthew. " _C'est une très bonne nouvelle, oui_?"

Matthew looked a combination of relief and angst. " _Oui, oui, Docteur Florieaux_." He reassured the doctor. But he knew that if it was not his issue, then it was Mary's and he did not know even how to begin to broach such a delicate subject to her. He had been convinced it was his problem.

Now it wasn't. He was heir to an estate. It was his main function to then provide a successor. Especially as it had been such a rocky road to finding him. Should he encourage Mary to see a specialist? She had intimated as much early in their marriage. But nothing had been done to Matthew's knowledge. He had been in Manchester and then soon after Sybil's own birth he was off to Paris.

They had little time together. And what there was had been preoccupied. First with the resolution of the mystery of his parent's past connection to Downton. Something he felt comfortable putting in his past.

A conversation with Violet helped assuage any lingering doubts or anger he had. Mary had asked her grandmother in private about the 1901 events. And Violet took Matthew aside after dinner a few days before he left for London. She had apologized on behalf of the family for any embarrassment or pain James had brought on his mother.

"He should have known better." Violet had said. "Especially a woman on her own."

Matthew refrained from asking if it was open season then on women with their husbands in tow… he decided to leave well enough alone. His mother had taken care of business on her end as he saw it. And his father's death had nothing to do with it. So he let bygones be bygones.

Then he had accepted the Foreign Office job and received his first assignment to accompany the Foreign Secretary and Sir Eyre to Paris.

Mary had been distant since her return from London. He was not sure if it was because he had taken the job without her full consultation. She knew he had to take up a profession now that he was married. He would not just sit at Downton and be among the idle aristocracy.

That was not in his nature. And as much as wanted to just write his novel all day and make love to Mary all night, he knew that was not on either.

So the Foreign Office job was a good start for him. To get back into the swing of work. Of responsibility.

And he wanted to do a good job. So he brought himself up to speed while he stayed with his old army pal Mark Purefoy and his new wife in Wimbledon, and felt more than capable of holding his own by the time they arrived at the Quai D'orsay in Paris.

Weeks later though, and little progress to show, he was ready to go home.

The party at the MacGuinnesses would keep Mary occupied in London until he got in. She had sussed out the theme of the party was 'lovers of ages past" and was very mysterious about her intentions. Their last telephone conversation was full of information about the wild child Rose who kept Mary on her feet watching her and chaperoning her on trips all around London.

"She's frightfully excited about this party." Mary said, in her best Rose imitation. "It's simply splendido of you to invite her along."

Matthew chuckled. "I can't wait to meet her."

"You best watch yourself." Mary warned. "She seems to have no morals regarding outrageously flirting with men. She struck up a conversation with a complete stranger at Gunter's the other day. The gentleman's wife was most put out."

"I am even more intrigued then." Matthew said cheekily.

"Hmmm… I bet you are." Mary intoned.

Matthew arrived in London and took a taxi to Rosamund's. A young woman ran past him down the front steps.

He tipped his hat as she moved by in a blur.

She stopped and turned. "Are you Matthew?" She was all bright smiles and dancing eyes.

"I am." He said. "And you are Rose?"

She curtsied with a saucy showing off of her knees as she lifted her dress.

"I've been warned about you." Matthew couldn't resist.

"All true I can assure you." Rose said with a wink.

"I certainly hope so." He replied with more mischief than he probably should have. "The world needs a bit of shaking up. You look like you can take it on."

"As do you." Rose flashed. "You cut quite the dash in that blue suit."

He knew enough not to encourage her too much. "Is the family in?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Aunt Rosamund is writing letters. " Rose explained. "I'm off to a dress fitting."

Matthew nodded and turned back to the door. Rose caught him with her arm. "But if you're looking for your wife, she's back at Downton."

"What?" Matthew was crestfallen. "I thought she'd wait for me here?"

"She was going to." Rose reassured him. "But she had an idea about this party and next thing I know she was off to York without as much as a how you do."

"Well there's no point in my staying here then. I'll take the train to Downton Village." He scratched his chin in thought. He'd be there before dark.

Rose's eyes flashed, "But you'll be back won't you? For the party? I want a dance! I command you to dance with me sir!" She was full of life for sure Matthew thought.

"I am your servant." He said, bowing and placing his hat next to his heart.

She bobbed her head and waved "Ta ta, then. Until we meet again." And was down the street before Matthew put his hat back on his head.

She is quite the firecracker, he thought. Mary was absolutely right. He grabbed his bag and caught another taxi back to Victoria and the train to Downton. If he was lucky, he'd be in time for dinner.

XX

As it turned out though, he was late. The trains were all delayed and he arrived just as the family was going to retire for the night.

"Do you need a meal?" Robert asked as Matthew entered the saloon behind Carson.

"No. I ate on the train." Matthew said. "I will just follow Mary upstairs."

Mary was already asleep so he quickly changed and slipped in under the covers beside her. She did not stir.

In the morning, Mary wanted to stay upstairs for breakfast but encouraged Matthew to go on down.

"Later I am going to rummage around the upper floors for this party. We have storage boxes in some of the unused rooms and I think I know of just the thing. I did not find anything in the shops in London." She said.

"Can I help?" He sounded a bit excited by the idea. "Who knows what treasure will be revealed?"

Her voice was detached. "Of course."

So he followed her up the stairs, past the servant's quarters and into one of the darkened rooms. The air was stale and Matthew moved to open a window and pull up the shades.

Mary opened up trunk after trunk. He was fascinated by the collection of jewelry, shoes, and clothing tucked inside.

He had tried to take advantage of the privacy to kiss the nape of her neck. But she said, "I think I may have a touch of a cold. Better not get too close."

"I see." Matthew got the hint. She was deliberately keeping him at bay. He was sure of it. But had no idea why. "What's in this case then?"

Mary closed her eyes in despair. She knew that hurt him. But any coupling under these circumstances would be ferocious given the time they had spent away from each other.

And that would not do.

Better to wait. She ached to hold him, to feel him. She had to control these thirsts, she told herself. This desire. If her body was to be ready to receive a child, she had to work on being more disconnected from the passion of the sexual act. To concentrate instead on the end result. It was part of her womanly responsibility, according to the manual.

"Here it is." She tried to sound triumphant despite the growing air of anxiety. And she pulled out a Regency gown with its high waistline and open neckline. The dress was white with embroidered adornments. Underneath was a man's evening ensemble.

"If you look in that," Mary said, pointing to a smaller box with a handle, "I think you'll find some boots."

Matthew did so. "I think they might fit."

He turned. She smiled. "Very dashing. I thought we could go as Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy."

Matthew loved the idea. "Miss Bennet, may I accompany you to the Assembly Room ball?"

"I should be delighted." Mary allowed Matthew to lift her up from the floor.

He lightly kissed her on the cheek. "Your carriage awaits…"

XX

 _The party will be lots of fun—loud, roaring 20s. Matthew gets into a bit of trouble with Rose…. Mary meets a racing car driver who invites her to Brooklands…. Neither are telling the other about their medical visits…. Things get a bit out of hand… What do you think? I'm not sure how this story is going down with everyone? I love it… but do you? I love hearing from you!_

 _There were just such manuals and articles (though this one is fictional) out there as the one I have Mary read. Some suggested various questionable tonics or "cures."_


	13. Chapter 13:À la danse, à oublier

_The cymbals crash,  
And the dancers walk,  
With long silk stockings  
And arms of chalk,  
Butterfly skirts,  
And white breasts bare,  
And shadows of dead men Watching 'em there. [The Victory Ball, Alfred Noyes]_

XX

The family gathered for tea in Rosamund's drawing room. Her mother had arrived from Downton Village to attend a fundraiser for the Red Cross. Her work with the village hospital during the war had extended to serving as local chair of the Red Cross as the war came to an end.

"We will disturb the neighbors. The music could be heard down the block," Violet complained. The trumpets in syncopated rhythm with the banjos, piano, and drums. The beat was lively and hypnotic. Rose had brought her gramophone and was blaring out the latest Dixieland jazz.

Rose bent down, deep kneed and started moving her hands back and forth between and across her legs.

Rosamund shook her head, "What are you doing dear?" She was already on the verge of a headache.

"The Charleston." Rose lost count and she stomped her foot. She tried it again. "How is one ever to get these steps right? I have to take more lessons." She was dressed head to toe as a flapper, from brightly colored head band, to the untrimmed empire waisted skirt and beaded adornments.

Rose reached out to Matthew. "Help me." She pulled him up onto his feet.

"Me?" He choked out. "I don't know the steps either."

"We can learn it together." She tried to place his hands in the proper position on his knees.

Mary interrupted their tomfoolery by asking Rose how she intended to dress for the evening's fancy dress party.

Rose crooned sadly that "As she had no handsome young man to accompany me," giving Matthew quite the bold stare, "I can only go as myself."

She sidled up to Matthew who escaped her clutches on the dance floor and was pouring a cup. She pulled her fingers along his sleeve. "You won't be shocked will you?"

Matthew licked his lips and responded, "It takes a great deal more than you, Miss MacClare, to shock me."

"I take that as a challenge then." She smirked.

"Take it as you will." Matthew snapped back in kind. He took a sip of his drink and despite the shot of daggers look from his wife, he returned to sit next to Mary.

Later as they dressed in their regency get up Mary chastised him. "You mustn't tease with her so."

Anna was affixing some ribbons in Mary's hair. She exchanged a knowing glance with Mary in the mirror. Anna exited the room.

"People might misunderstand Matthew." Mary rotated in her chair to face him.

"Nonsense. We're just having a bit of fun." He sat on the bed pulling on the knee high boots.

"You need to restrain your impulses." Mary admonished him. "I hate to pull rank…."

"Then don't." He said shortly.

The strain had been growing between them ever since his return from Paris.

"Darling" Matthew started again, "I hope you know me better than to think I'm about to start an _affaires d'amour_ with Rose during afternoon tea with Cousin Violet sitting on the divan next to me."

Mary acknowledged the truth of that. "I do. But we're never past it Matthew. Not in the circles in which we socialize. They live and breathe scandal."

"Then I shall endeavor to be on my best behaviour this evening." Matthew reached for her and she moved onto his lap for a kiss. It felt so good to have his arms around her. Her willpower was waning to continue the charade that she did not want to rip all his clothes off this moment and pull him down onto the bed.

And his nuzzling and hot breathes reckoned his own emotional state. He would not stop her.

"Although," His voice needy and weakening her further, "I must warn you, in that gown my dearest…" more kisses reaching to her lips "…loveliest Mary, I might just be the least bit indecently improper."

The kiss was heady. Their lips and tongues intertwined.

"Would you mind that, my love?" He asked.

Mary's "I wouldn't mind that at all…" was lost as Anna knocked on the door to finish Mary's hair.

Matthew reluctantly let her go. "We'll finish this later." He kissed her one last time.

XX

Matthew and Mary strolled a step or two behind Rose. Matthew leaned in, his top hat tipped back so he could whisper in Mary's ear, "Have I told you I learned the tango while in London. After the war?"

"No." Mary was intrigued. "When was this?" She lifted the hem of her dress to ensure it would not be ripped as they made their way up the stairs of the MacGuinnesses London town home.

"After my recovery. My rather eccentric therapist suggested it. Also got me out in the world again. Away from hospitals and convalescent homes. From the sadness of… " He caught his breath. "..sadness of loss."

Mary squeezed his hand in support. "And did it work?"

"As a matter of fact it did." He helped Mary off with her coat and handed both to the footman. He had to speak very loud to reach over the sound of the band. He tapped his foot in rhythm.

"We'll try it out later." He promised. "When the music turns to the proper tune."

"Come on Matthew!" Rose's whole body shook with excitement. "Now!" And with a long shrug of 'what can I do' look towards Mary, he followed.

Mary couldn't help but notice the sly smirk of amusement on his face as he let himself be led away.

"She's lively." A voice from behind. Charlie's wife, Diana, came up to stand beside Mary. "It's good to see Matthew so happy. You've done wonders."

"Me?" Mary was surprised. Matthew had bouts of melancholy throughout their relationship. His sudden disappearances. His inability to sleep. But he usually recovered.

"He keeps so much to his chest." Mary said. "I have to pry things out of him."

"Sounds just like him." Diana sat next to Mary in a window seat. The throng of people was already suffocating. "He was ever the stoic about such things. But his recovery was so very long. Periods of infection delayed his ability to walk. And when he did so, he plunged right back into the war. To forget about his mother."

"I wish I had known her." Mary replied. "They seemed very close."

"He blames himself of course for her death." Diana said. "Typical of him, you know. Taking on the burdens of the world. You've seen that surely?"

Mary watched Diana closely. She really did know Matthew well. He did much the same about his father.

"How do you know so much?"

"Matthew and my first husband were quite close friends. He spent long leaves with us in the country. And then he brought Lavinia to meet me when they became engaged."

"You knew Lavinia?" Mary was curious.

"A little. She was on first acquaintance quite the shy, retiring girl. But I could see some fire under those eyes. She loved Matthew very much." Diana spoke her words carefully. "But I knew he did not feel the same."

"Matthew had a high regard for her, I'm sure." Mary knew of Matthew's nagging doubts on that as well.

"Regard, yes." Diana knew well what she wanted to convey to Mary. "But not passion. Not love. I see that now, though. For you."

"We get along very well." Mary demurred.

"It shows." Diana replied. "Matthew was on the verge of becoming something of a wastrel in Paris. The drinking sometimes got out of hand. We thought something had changed. In July, when he visited Charlie. He missed our wedding in late June. He had some pressing business that kept him in Paris."

She looked direct at Mary. "None of us thought it was the Peace Conference as he rather too innocently declared." She gave a short laugh.

Mary knew exactly what that business entailed. Not that she would divulge it to Diana. She shifted in her chair.

"Whatever that business was," Diana enunciated looking again at Mary with warmth in her eyes, "transformed him into a different man. One with purpose. One who had something to live for."

"He's very lucky to have such good friends." Mary said.

"And you?" Diana asked. "You are happy as well?"

"I've never been so happy in my life." And she was. Despite the fertility issue that now beset her mind, she had never believed she would find such a love, such a deep connection with anyone.

"You must come visit again. When the house is not so full of strangers. Where they all came from I'll never know. We had only 40 RSVPS, the rest are scroungers and hangers on." But Diana was not put out by it. "Most get word from the grapevine or the bush telegraph that a party is on. They are mostly ex-soldiers like Charlie or Matthew. I can't turn them away. They all need to escape."

The noise level had increased even more as the band started up in the next room. "Curly insisted we have one of these new jazz bands." Diana said.

"Curly?" Mary was curious about all these nicknames.

"Burleigh Cuthbert. One of the friends from Matthew and Charlie's regiment. The name's a sort of a cockney slang thing…"

At that the man himself showed up. "Diana, my love." Burleigh threw himself into a chair. "I told you the Dixieland would be a bit hit." And he turned to Mary. "I know you don't I?"

Diana said, "Matthew's wife, you remember. From the Victory March."

"Oh right, Galahad's bride." Burleigh intoned, his voice plummy. "You are a beauty. What did he do to marry you?

"He asked me." Mary cracked back. "Are you married?"

"Me?" He scoffed merrily, "Not chained yet. Not I."

"Might do you a world of good." Diana noted. "Settle down."

"Oh I suppose." He looked around. "But I do see Matthew having a good time outside the bounds."

And all turned to see Rose and Matthew on the makeshift dance floor, doing what Mary knew far too well was the latest dance craze they had practiced all the afternoon.

XX

Matthew had lost track of Mary. She had disappeared in the throng of people, smoke, and noise.

Rose had found herself better dance partners finally, allowing him to escape. His back was killing him. And the banging of pots and pans by revelers reminded him of the popping of guns back in France.

His head was pounding. There were too many people.

He needed to get outside. Finding the doors to the terrace, Matthew walked into the night. Finding a quieter spot in the semi-darkness, he sat down with a heavy sigh and put his head in his hands. Matthew pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He inhaled deeply and let it out.

Matthew's privacy was interrupted by the door opening. A shaft of light illuminated the new visitor.

Rose walked outside. She was breathing the air deep.

"You need it as well?" She turned and saw the lit end of the cigarette glowing in the darkness.

"It's getting so I could hardly think straight." She came to sit beside him. "Not that I mind that." She shrugged with an attempt at insouciance.

Matthew looked at Rose honestly. "You don't have to always put on that mask, you know." He observed. "Not around me."

"What do you mean?" but it slipped, she bit her lip.

"That nothing ever bothers you. That the war, your nursing, does not still affect you." He stated it gently.

"How did you know?" Rose's voice got quiet.

Matthew shrugged. "Takes one to know one."

"I'll take one of those." She pulled a cigarette out. "All of us smoked a bit in the lines. Usually behind matron's back."

Matthew lit it for her. "Who was he?"

Rose shuddered slightly. Her lips quavered on the cigarette. "What?" Her word sharp.

"Your young man." Matthew leaned against the side of the bench so as to better face her. "You loved him very much?"

She stared hard at Matthew. Then admitted in a shattered voice, "Lieutenant Peter Carne. He died at Passchendaele Ridge. The 18th of March, 1918. At 11:34pm. Of sepsis." Her voice unnaturally calm.

Matthew was quiet. Then, "You nursed him? That must have been very sad."

"It was. I was with him to the very last moment." She could barely speak.

"But a comfort as well. That he was loved to the end." Matthew's words were kindly. "I know of many of my men who would have wanted the same."

"Mummy and Daddy know nothing about him." She told Matthew. "You won't say? She would not have approved of him no matter."

He shook his head in a promise of secrecy.

Rose put her head on Matthew's shoulder. "What was the point of it all? I had the notion that after the war, he'd be returned to me. As if it was the war that was the dream, a nightmare. And that when I woke, it would all be as if it had never been."

"As if…." Matthew slowly exhaled the smoke. "'Pray God you will never know, the hell where youth and laughter go.' Sassoon has it right. But I doubt our political leaders will listen to him."

Rose sat up suddenly and made to return to the party. "I don't intend to be left behind anymore. I want to forget. I want to live. Live for today. There's no going back. Just pain."

"And can you?" Matthew asked, fearing for her. Her determination to forget.

"I can give it a good try. Better than moping about out here." She cut his look of concern. "And I don't need you telling me I can't."

"Be careful." He cautioned. "There's plenty at this party that will agree with you. They… they might lead you astray."

She scoffed harshly. "Good I say. I welcome it."

And with that Rose left to return to the noise of the bright young things who also wanted to forget.

Matthew stayed behind. He unhurriedly finished his smoke. He suddenly needed to find Mary. He needed to find Mary. To feel her love. To live.

XX

"What did you do in the war?" Mary asked the tall handsome man who made his way to her side. He had offered her some spiked punch. She took it. Matthew was nowhere to be found. She had given up trying to find him.

"I was in the Navy. But now I'm afraid I spend my time in on dry land. I've tried to get up enough money to invest in a business, but for now I race cars at Brooklands Race Track."

"Really?" Mary looked around idly. "I've heard that's all the rage."

"Maybe you'd like to come?" The man stepped forward so he could make sure this astonishingly beguiling woman heard him.

"I don't even know your name?" Mary said, hardly taking in his words.

"Henry. Henry Talbot." He bowed slightly. His tall frame, just towering over her.

"How do you do. Lady Mary Crawley." She held out her gloved hand. He took it.

"So would you come?" He asked again. "I can assure you a very fine outing."

Mary gave a little moue with her mouth. "I'm sure you would." She paused, but added. "My husband and I would love to see the races."

Henry backed away. "You're married?" He stumbled but recovered smoothly. "I didn't know. If I was your husband, I wouldn't leave your side."

Mary laughed. "He's here somewhere I assure you."

"Then let's take advantage of his absence. Would you give this new Black Bottom jig a go?" He held out an arm.

"Why not?" Mary replied. "Perhaps we'll find him out later." If Matthew could dance with Rose, why couldn't she dance as she pleased as well?

The music was boisterous. Mary tried out the steps, but was failing. She was very happy when the tune ended. "I must now go find Matthew." She told Henry. They were still holding hands from the dance.

"No need." The rich voice came from behind her. "For here I am."

She turned, a bit dizzy from the last pirouette. Matthew was staring at her, dark and hooded. "I do believe this dance is mine." He turned to Henry. "I assume you'll release my wife?"

Henry backed away with a nod of his head.

The music started again. A sole guitar with violin and concertina accompaniment. The sharp, rich, discordant notes started.

"It is the tango." The dance of love. Of passion. Matthew reached out his arm.

"It is indeed." Mary replied and took his hand. He snapped her to his chest. "I'd thought you'd never ask."

Matthew took her into a close, tight embrace. She followed his strong lead as he led her through the footwork and long elegant steps. They were chest to chest. The body contact unassailably demonstrating the possession Matthew intended to show Mary.

"Are you having a good time?" He asked when she was close to his ear. He gripped her hand to lead her around the floor. His other slipped along her back.

"I am now." Mary's throaty response sending Matthew into spasms of arousal. Their close embrace connected their upper thighs and hips.

"Your previous dance partner? Who was he?" Matthew tried not to let his jealousy show.

Mary saw it. In his pinched face. And she loved him even more. "I hardly know…I've already forgotten him."

Matthew released her from the embrace to spin her around as the timing indicated.

The music throbbed.

Their eyes, though technically supposed to be over each other's shoulders, remained riveted on each other.

Mary felt him grow stronger, bolder with each turn. She knew he needed her.

They turned away from each other.

When their gaze returned, Mary could see Matthew's eyes smouldered. "We've hardly had a chance to be together since I returned from Paris. I want you desperately. Do you know what I'm thinking?" as he brought her once again cheek to cheek.

Mary said, "I have an inkling you want to fulfill that promise tocarry me up a flight of stairs naked." He turned her quickly away and snapped back towards him.

Matthew licked his lips slowly as he rejoined, "You know me too well indeed." He glanced around. "What say you?" He dipped her down until she felt weightless, then slowly brought her back up to meet his lips.

Mary felt her willpower slip entirely. This man. Her husband, her lover. She needed to tell him about her concerns, her apprehensions about her fertility. For she could no longer keep him at bay.

"Let's go find my coat." She cast her eyes up, to the more private rooms on the second landing. "I believe it is upstairs."

His hand gripped hers tight. "I'm all yours." And she led him off the dance floor and up to a room filled with darkness. They fumbled and locked the door.

XX

 _Yes I must leave it there for now… I promise to finish this three part party set up later in the week. More conversations and … all sorts of things will follow!_

 _As always views, opinions, and reviews are more than welcome._

 _We still have some to go… Robert will want Matthew to contribute more at Downton, Matthew has other ideas…._


	14. Ch 14: La famille

They lay entwined, spent. Breathing hard, exhausted. Their clothes in a heap on the floor.

Mary felt the reverberations of the music from below. She could scarcely believe she had been so bold. It was the _Rive Gauche_ all over again. Their need the same. Their bodies' one.

"Take me." Her voice raspy, harsh. Insistent. "Now."

It seemed to have put Matthew in a trance. When she asked about it later, he said he had never felt so close to her. That although the drums called to mind artillery fire going off in his head he found that if moved with the syncopated nature of the beats rather than fight it, it allowed him feel every motion of her body.

As odd as that sounded.

"Like waves," he tried to explain. "Crests of desire that had to be followed. Met." He blushed. "I hardly know what I'm talking about."

"I think you know very well." Mary replied, feeling along his chest. "I want you to feel that way all the time."

They had found the night just to their liking. Seduced by the secrecy and the knowledge they dared to make love even as a hundred gathered below.

Yet Mary was restless afterward. She got up quickly and with a vengeance Matthew had thought.

She begun to try to slip back into the empire-waist gown. The short stays on the back, however, required his help.

Matthew had enjoyed untying them earlier. They had stood just inside the room, hardly believing no one saw them skulk up the stairs.

No one had called out.

No one knew they were there.

Matthew was breathing hard. Mary felt it on her skin. It made her shiver. She made her demand.

His breaths became shorter, concentrated.

"Are you afraid?" She tormented him by touching the arousal in his breeches. "I rather like 19th century breeches." Feeling him. Stroking. "Leaves very little to one's imagination." And she tugged on the buttons. "And rather easy to remove…."

He groaned and shuddered at her touch.

He threw her on the bed. Mary's cry of delight his reward. He thrust out his arms and followed her down, laying them on either side of her. Matthew's kiss was hard, his teeth nibbling her lower lip.

Mary usually wore no trussed up corset or layered undergarments. The new dresses of her wardrobe were much simpler. So as part of their role playing back to regency England, Matthew had taken his time. Unwrapping each layer of clothing, untying the stays. Tantalizing Mary with sweet kisses to her neck. He turned her around so he could more easily open the stays. As her back was revealed, he could see gooseflesh rise as his fingers tickled. His hands moved inside her gown and he felt her chest rise and fall.

They threw themselves into the moment. Mary's hands fumbled with his buttons while Matthew undid the jacket and pulled it off.

"I'll need your help with the boots, my darling." Matthew panted.

He moved towards the headboard and she took up a position at the foot of the bed. Mary's fingers tugged and pulled until the boots came away.

Matthew made a move to take off the white shirt.

"Leave it." Mary demanded. "I like it on you."

Matthew's hooded eyes met hers. Mary's fingers made their way up his thighs and underneath the loose fitting shirt. She felt his chest hairs bristle. He reached behind her and pulled her down on top of him.

They were both ready. His thrusting up inside her went deep. She rocked and swayed in rhythm with his driving lunges. They murmured each other's name as he squeezed each cheek of her derriere.

Mary's teeth bit his lip as she attempted to thrust her tongue down deep into the cavernous depths of his throat.

He hardly noticed. His own lips enclosed around her tongue mimicking the action of their bodies, plunging and lifting.

Matthew's release came as his hands grabbed her one last time and pushed her down forcefully upon him. Their legs were intertwined and clutched each other in order to shove deeper and harder. She met him thrust for thrust and she groaned in enormous satisfaction, luxurious and languid.

Mary fell down onto his chest. He lightly continued to touch and tickle.

The party went on below, no one the wiser for their actions on the second floor. The noise level, if anything, got even louder.

Then came Mary's sudden groan of frustration.

"What is wrong, my darling?" Matthew was concerned. "Should we have waited until we retired back to your Aunt Rosamund's?" He had not even given their assignation a thought, given their rather impulsive actions back in Paris.

Mary assuaged him, "No that's not it at all. I loved every moment of it. I think I just ruined everything though." She shook her head ruefully.

Matthew was now completely clueless. "Ruined?" He challenged. "If that's ruining our love making, I'll have you do it over and over again." He tried to make her laugh.

She moved to collect her dress from the carpeted floor. She said, "I… "

She paused, then berated herself to just get it out… "I went to see a fertility doctor, Matthew. Before you left for Paris. That's why I was in London."

"I see." He let her finish her thought. He had not divulged his own visit to the same type of doctor while in Paris. So they had much to confess to each other.

She sat down beside him, frustrated at being unable to finish dressing. "Will you do me back up?"

"Gladly." Matthew had pulled on his breeches in the meantime. He waited for her to explain.

"Dr. Ryder said a full physical examination might uncover some reason for our inability to conceive a child." She swallowed hard, "But I had read in the waiting room in a well-regarded journal that if a woman does not get too excited in love making, the womb will be more open to conception."

"Really?" Matthew turned a quizzical eye.

"Don't look at me like that." Mary presaged. "What do you know about a woman's body?"

He suppressed his doubt. "Of course, I'm so sorry my dear." Matthew put a hand on her shoulder. "It makes my heart ache to know you've had to go through that alone. I should have been there with you."

"I wanted to go alone. I'm not comfortable discussing these things with you."

He looked concerned. "Because you think I don't understand?"

"No." She admitted. "It's no good. I'm just too much my father's daughter with regards to public and private discourse."

Matthew remained silent.

"The article said if I relaxed …."

He eyed her again… but said nothing. Anything he said would be far too cheeky for this conversation. And he tried not to chuckle as that would be extraordinarily rude. But he did blink rather hard as he tried to take her point.

She stared hard at him, but saw his lips beginning to twitch.

Mary finally caved in to the humour of the moment. "It's all your fault, really!" And she began to laugh herself.

They held onto each other, their mirth hiding their very real, raw feelings.

Matthew began to retie her corset.

"My fault?" Matthew's hands pulled the strings of the stays. "How do you imagine?"

She tried to explain again, "I was supposed to keep myself in a relaxed state."

"And…" His lips strayed to kiss her back.

"I could not…" She leaned into him.

"Why is that?" His voice pitched low.

"Because you're impossible."

"Impossible…?" He pulled another stay tighter.

"To resist." She shrugged as he finished pulling. "And you damn well know it."

He kissed her shoulder lightly. "And you love it."

Mary turned to face him. "I do." They kissed. "I love you madly."

"Not as much as I love you." Matthew said. But then he grew serious. "I have something to confess Mary."

"Oh." She sat back against the foot board. "What?"

"I went to see a doctor as well. In Paris." Matthew did not know any other way to break the news. So he just said it, "to find out about myself. It turns out I'm fine…erm… in that respect."

Mary took in that information. "So it's me…."

"My darling I was so sure. And what we did in Paris, our time before our marriage. I feel quite shameful now." The confession spilled out of Matthew. "I could have… put you in … I should have known better."

"I was there too," she reminded him. "I did not resist."

His slow smile returned as they embraced. "What do we do now, though? I really don't think the ummm…relaxing thing works."

Mary said with emphasis. "Dr. Ryder looked at me with just the same skepticism. Said I should ignore that as codswallop. But it seemed easier than some kind of invasive examination."

Matthew nodded in empathy. "And so you don't want to get the exam?" Matthew asked gently.

"I… " Mary was seldom at a loss for words. "I'm not sure."

"Is it so very important for you?" He asked. "To find out?"

"It is." She said it with confidence. "I want to know."

"Is it just for your family? For your father?" Matthew inquired. "Because I'm perfectly happy with just ourselves. I don't need …."

Mary interrupted. "I do, Matthew. I do. I want a family with you. I saw the way you looked at little Sybbie. I want that for our own child. To share our love."

Matthew smiled. "Then you do whatever you think best."

"If I do, will you come with me? At least wait out in the room." Mary took his hand.

"I will do whatever you want me to do." Matthew gathered her up in his arms. "We're in this together."

He finished the last stay. "There." He kissed her shoulder. "All done."

Mary got up and looked in the mirror. "You managed to barely put a hair out of place. I'm not even sure Anna would know it was in disarray."

"It took all my willpower." Matthew conceded.

She held out her arm. "Ready?"

"Let me check the hall." He went first and peeked out the door. The landing was empty. "I think everyone is downstairs." They slipped out and down to the main saloon.

"Let's find Rose and get out of here." Matthew said. He sensed the party had reached the point of no return. The only thing left was the descent into oblivion, the vacant space between remembrance and forget.

Mary glanced around. "She's over there. With your friend."

Matthew turned to see Burleigh with his hand touching Rose's shoulder and whispering in her ear. He blanched and his mouth tensed in concern.

"What's the matter?" Mary asked. "Isn't he your friend?"

"Yes." Matthew began to maneuver around the crowd. Mary followed. He took her aside. "I like Curly well enough, but…"

Before he could explain they made their way to Rose. "It's time to go, Rose." Matthew reached for her.

"But the party's still on…" Rose had a drink in her hand. Her eyes were wide but empty.

"We're going." Matthew's command voice came out.

"You're not my father." She snarled as she shrugged off his arm. "Or my master…."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

Curly intervened, "Let her alone, Galahad. The night's a virgin, and we're just getting started…."

Matthew threw him a disgusted look. "Stay out of this…" And he grabbed Rose's hand and led her outside.

Rose threw herself into the back seat of the car. Matthew had driven his motor down from Downton in order to more easily get around town. He opened the front side door for Mary. It still stuck, but she gently pressed his tense arm as he grunted in disgust.

The short trip back to Rosamund's was made in silence.

Rose exited the car, and refused even to acknowledge Matthew. She walked up the steps with Mary. When Parsons opened the door, she said to Mary, "Thank you for allowing me to accompany you. I had a marvelous time." And when she did finally turn to Matthew, she shot him a look of loathing and walked away and up the stairs.

Matthew helped Mary out of her coat and he took off his top hat and cloak. Parsons informed Mary that Anna awaited her upstairs. Mary nodded. On the way upstairs Matthew said he'd go to his dressing chamber and come in later. He was there alone as his work did not really require a valet on a regular basis. He saw to his own needs and had already sought out temporary lodgings near Whitehall until such time as he and Mary made final arrangements for their living situation.

When they finally retired for the night, Matthew's head sunk gratefully into the pillow.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" Mary enquired. "Rose is of an age to allow her some freedom."

Matthew turned his head. "I know. It's not that. I'm not acting as loco parentis or guardian of her."

"Is there something about Burleigh Cuthbert then? Is he bad news?" Mary was confused.

"Not really. I've not seen a lot of him admittedly since the war, but he had a bit of breakdown after Amiens and had to go into hospital for neurasthenia." He tried to explain without judgement. All of them were shell shocked one way or the other. "I'm not saying he's unreliable or anything, but impetuous. Unthinking like so many are today. He drinks too much."

"Diana said you did much the same." Mary said, trying to draw him out.

Matthew knew the truth of that. "I did. For a while, in Paris. Before … before you came into my life."

Mary put her hand to his cheek. "Then maybe Rose might be good for him."

Matthew shook his head. "Destructive more like."

Mary was perplexed. "Are you not telling me something?"

Matthew was silent. His conversation with Rose was private. It was not his place to divulge secrets. This was one of the reasons he had spent so much of his time recently as a loner. Getting back into the world of the living, meant getting involved. Caring. He was barely sure he could continue himself, much less take on the burdens of another survivor.

"Let me handle this." He reached over to Mary and they settled down amongst the sheets and covers. "You already have more than enough on your plate."

Mary nestled her head against his shoulder. His tension eased as she felt his arms slip around her.

They slept.

XX

Matthew was at work when the telephone call came in. Rose had left for the week end. "Cuckooing with Lady Ursula." She had informed Rosamund and Mary who could not object as she was the daughter of Lord Wycombe of Dorset. "The Wycombe's are old friends of Daddy's. It'll be perfectly fine" And she was off.

She and Matthew had barely exchanged a word.

Mary was too soon involved in an issue at home to worry about Rose for the moment. Sybil was on the telephone, frantic. "Mary. You and Matthew must come home now. Tom is set to return to Dublin. He must be stopped."

"I thought he was settling down?" Mary tried to calm her sister.

"So was I. But now he's concerned about his family. His brother."

"Which one?" Mary knew Tom had an extensive family. She ruefully admitted to herself she had not committed them all to memory.

"Kiernan, the eldest." Sybil said. "He's a car mechanic and owns his own garage. But he's gotten involved in some politics. He tried to drag Tom into it when we were there. A real rabble rouser."

Mary was about to ask what was happening, when Sybil interrupted. "Just come home. Mama wants me to rest. She's at me about little Sybbie's feeding. I need you here on my side. And Matthew can talk sense to Tom. Tell him it's too dangerous to go to Ireland right now."

"I'll be on the afternoon train, darling." Mary reassured her. "I'm not sure about Matthew. He's working at Whitehall today."

Mary rang off and tried to get Matthew on the line. He said he'd be back for afternoon tea.

They sat in the solar to have their tea. "I was planning on returning by Friday," Mary poured. "So it's not that I'm not already packed."

"But you wanted to wait for me to leave again." Matthew knew. He had informed her that his stint in London was temporary. Sir Eyre Crowe and Lord Curzon were off again to Paris within the week and this time a trip to Berlin was also in the offing. That had unsettled Matthew. Not because he hated the Germans or wanted to feel smug about the Allied victory. He admired the Germans in many ways. Not their leaders, necessarily, but the men and officers. He had met some during the war. They all were in the trenches together.

He was unsettled because of the unreality of it all. The English and the French civilian population did hold lingering hate. The French in particular because half their nation was blown up and destroyed. So many dead.

Matthew was now part of the larger post war diplomatic mission to bury the hatchet so to speak. To begin again. They were starting with trade. Always a good thing, Matthew had though cynically. Always room to make money between former enemies. Even as they squeezed the reparations, business was business. So a small diplomatic mission was to accompany a trade delegation.

And he had been chosen. Both for his language skills, and his clear head. Despite his run in with the French over Alsace-Lorraine, Sir Eyre trusted his sensible nature.

Matthew squeezed his forehead with pinched fingers. "I can accompany you back to Downton, but I must return by Friday." It was now Wednesday afternoon. "I'm not sure what I can do. Tom struck me as a capable man. I don't think he'd run into a hail of bullets."

"He is in support of Irish independence." Mary reminded him.

"Yes, many are. It's not clear whether the Dáil and Sinn Féin intend only to use military means to achieve it." Matthew tempered. "It's another complicated situation. The empire's falling apart. The movement for self-determination cannot be stopped. But our government is divided on the issue of what to do. So the result is continued use of the Black and Tans to put down any violence. Which only causes more to occur."

"That's why you need to talk to Tom." Mary reasoned. "You understand it better than any one of us. Certainly more than Papa."

"I'll see what I can do." Matthew said. "Do you want them to stay in England for good?"

"I do." Mary replied. "Mama will forever be fretting for Sybil's safety if they return. It's not the place for a young English woman and her daughter at the moment."

"Even if Sybil wants to return?" He asked.

"Sybil's ever the rebel, I know. Her nature is one not to be put down by anything. But the baby has moderated her somewhat. She knows she's a mother now. And that must be put first." Mary got up. "So you can leave work?"

"Yes. I told them I'd be back on Friday. We leave for Paris on Monday but we have meetings all week end with this trade delegation to prepare." Matthew followed her out of the room.

"I had Parsons pack your bag. It's already for the train." Mary said. "I really want to leave soon."

XX

They arrived by train later that evening. The new chauffeur Higgins took them back to Downton.

Cora greeted them at the door. "Sybil is ready to go with him." She said, agitated. "You must make her see reason."

Mary took her mother's hand. "We talked about this on the trip. I will tackle Sybil and Matthew will talk with Tom. Where are they?"

"Scattered after dinner." Cora explained. "Sybil is helping nurse put Sybbie to bed. Tom has sequestered himself in the billiards room."

Matthew needed no other urging. "I'll see him." And he walked towards the back of the house. He and Tom had spent some time playing when they first met. Both had enjoyed discussing family and politics while shooting a match.

He found Tom lining up the red ball at the top head rail. He turned as the door creaked. Matthew walked in.

"Ah." Tom laughed. "Come to talk some sense have you?" He handed Matthew a stick. "I knew Sybil had telephoned Mary."

"Not at all." Matthew replied. "Needed some fresh country air after London." He took a cue stick and waited for Tom to break.

Tom hit his cue ball and it struck the red and into the corner pocket.

Matthew waited patiently for Tom to speak.

After they had several rounds, Tom said, "It's just that I can't raise my brother on the line. It's frustrating. I don't know where he is and what's he got up to."

"What do you think has happened?"

Tom paused, rubbing the cue stick. He leaned against the table. "You know what happened in January, then?"

Matthew did. "The Soloheadbeg Ambush." As it was being labeled by the press. The IRA had attacked and shot two Royal Irish Constabularies. The British government responded by declaring the area a Special Military Area and sent more troops.

"My brother's got involved with them." Tom said. "Small stuff. Attacking property. Raiding for arms. But my mother wants me to go get him. Tell him to think about the family. Bring him back."

Matthew chortled. "That's what I'm supposed to do with you."

"I've got to go Matthew. Ireland's coming of age and we all want to be a part of it."

That concerned Matthew. "Sounds like you might stay to participate?"

"I might have..." Tom considered. "Not any more."

Tom shot the ball. "My brother's a hothead, but he's strong on family. We're worried about him."

"Think of your family here. Sybil, the baby." Matthew reminded him.

I want him to bring him here to be Sybbie's godfather at her christening."

"It's going to be a Catholic affair?" Matthew was surprised Lord Grantham agreed.

"Yes. Sybil and I agreed on this. And the family is going along." Tom said. "It's good of Robert. Of course he's doing it for Sybil."

"And family." Matthew said. "We're both interlopers into the Crawley clan. But I've seen how they stick together. And now we're doing our share to be a part of them."

Tom nodded. "I know Sybil worries. And I don't intend to do anything foolish. But my country's at war. It's odd not to be a part of it."

Matthew sighed. "I don't have a good answer. It's a bloody shame. The English aren't going to leave Ireland without a fight. It's going to be long." He closed his eyes. Another senseless mess. "I thought you were going to be a journalist now."

"I am. I've managed to write several articles already picked up by national papers." Tom's ball dropped into the pocket.

The match was over.

"I will be there and back again before a fortnight's over." Tom finished. "I've got to find out for myself."

"See you are then." Matthew shook his hand as a good loser in the match. "Mary will be the very devil about it if you aren't. I would like that you try to keep in touch as much as possible."

"I'll do my best." Tom set up the cue balls. "Go again?"

XX

"What do you mean you didn't talk him out of it?" Mary asked. Sybil was also in the music room when Matthew arrived. Tom was not far behind him.

Robert grumbled, "I could have told you that. He's determined to go."

Matthew defended himself, "I did try, but…"

Sybil knew better. "He talked you into supporting him. He does that. That's why I want to go as well, I warn you."

Matthew said, "That's far too dangerous."

"Thank God someone agrees with me on that." Robert said. "I will not let you go. You are acting like a child, so I must treat you like one."

"My husband is in danger. I want to be there for him." Sybil was shaking.

Cora chided her, "Think of the baby."

Sybil knew her mother was right. "I know. But I'm so worried."

Matthew tried again. "He can take care of himself."

"Why is it not dangerous for him, then?" Sybil posed.

Tom walked in at that moment. Sybil moved to stand next to her husband.

"You know the answer to that, I think." Matthew said. "It is dangerous for anyone. But for one thing having more than one person will slow Tom down. If you want him back fast, let him go alone. Bring his brother back here."

Mary added. "Then you can make longer term plans. One day at a time."

Tom was grateful for the support. "I am against any form of personal violence. I will keep my head and not get involved in any meetings or riots." He took Sybil's hand. "I promise."

Sybil pursed her lips. "I will keep you to those promises Tom Branson." And she put her hand over his. "Be careful, my darling."

Mary and Matthew exchanged relieved glances.

Later that night, in their bedroom Matthew said he'd be returning to London the next afternoon.

"I know." Mary put down her lotion. Matthew was seated next to her. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Will you wait until I return from the continent before arranging an appointment again with Dr. Ryder?" Matthew leaned forward in his chair.

Mary nodded. "I'll fix it while you're gone."

They moved towards their bed. Matthew sat on his side as Mary pulled the cover up. "Will you meet me in Paris? I can either telegram or telephone you the date. I'd very much like to see you when it's all over."

Mary's loving smile was all the answer he needed. "Maybe by then we'll have settled where we are to live as well." She added. "All this running around has me suddenly exhausted."

"A good night's sleep will you do wonders." And Matthew turned out the light. Mary tucked next to him and was soon fast asleep.

XX

Matthew was more than a little irritated to learn that the Friday morning meeting had been delayed and that they were to meet with the trade delegation on Saturday. He could have spent the day in York. Upon arriving at his office in Whitehall, he learned that instead he and his colleagues were to have a working dinner at 8pm that night in preparation.

Given the option of a return to Downton was impossible, he spent Friday morning looking for private lodgings. He found a small set of furnished rooms near the foreign office headquarters. Talking to the landlord and agreeing on a short term lease, he accepted.

He took his bags out of the car and brought them inside. His cases included not only clothing and personal essentials, but his work materials.

Matthew telephone Mary to give her the exchange for his new lodgings. "I don't know that you'd approve, but they'll do for me."

He was beginning to hate calling anyone as lately it seemed every time he answered the telephone, some crisis or other was upon him.

And this time it turned out the same. Mary said with some frustration, "I'm afraid we've another situation. Rosamund called to say that Rose has not returned as agreed. She wants to stay with this new friend, Lady Ursula while Susan wants her back in Scotland."

Matthew groaned. "And?"

"Well she wants you to talk some sense into her." Mary heard Matthew's exhalation over the line. "You are the only one she seems to listen to."

"I don't know about that. Not after how we left things." He reminded her.

"Give it a try." Mary did not know exactly why her husband and this young woman bonded so closely, nor the cause of their recent falling out. "You think she's likely to do something reckless?"

"I honestly don't know." Matthew's weary voice came back on the line.

"I will telephone this Lady Ursula. See what's what. Introduce your name." Mary eased the situation.

"Very well." Matthew replied. "I'll wait your answer." He put down the receiver and went to wash up.

When the telephone rang again, he was feeling refreshed. "Hello darling." He answered as Mary greeted him.

"It turns out they're all going to the races this afternoon. That man I met at your friends' the MacGuinnesses party...umm… Henry Talbot. He's invited them. I think you should go as well. I told Lady Ursula and she's delighted to have you. Said you could meet them there."

"I can't stay very long." Matthew told her. "I have a work dinner at 8pm."

"Try your best. Susan is at her wit's end." Mary rang off after saying she loved him and would miss him and she's counting the days until their reunion in Paris.

"You sound rather tired again." He noticed. "Are you feeling well?"

"Just all the traveling about. I'll buck up after a good rest here." She did not want to tell him that she was not feeling her best. He had enough to worry about. She had been sick that morning.

"Until Paris, then." Matthew put the receiver down on the hook. He prepared to go out once more. This time to drive to Surrey. He sighed. He knew he had acted out of line with Rose at the party. But he had known more than one who threw themselves into the whirlwind of post war merrymakings to hide grief and depression.

He wanted to help Rose. But he was not sure how.

XX

Matthew left the crowd of newly made friends at the race course. His meeting was at 8pm and he had to take into account travel time. In all honesty, they hardly seem to notice he'd gone. Rose had given him the cold shoulder most of the day. He had spent the majority of the event, oddly enough, with Henry.

The two struck up a long conversation about motors until the actual race began. Matthew admitted to some excitement as the cars zoomed past at speeds his old bone shaker could only dream.

After he had to depart. He tried to get Rose to go with him, but she was insistent upon staying with her friends until that night. A scavenger hunt party at Lady Ursula's was afoot, and she would not miss it.

"It's fun, Matthew. Don't' be a bore." She turned away from him.

"I will come and fetch you." He said, brooking no opposition. "And tomorrow you're on the train to Inverness."

Rose and he exchanged dark looks. "I know what you're doing," Matthew whispered to her. "It won't work. The pain does not go away just because you ignore it."

"What rubbish." She snorted. "I will do what I want. Why do you come only to disapprove? It's bad form you know."

"I'm only trying to help." Matthew said quietly.

"Then help by going away." And she pushed away from him.

Matthew returned to London. The meeting was long but informative. He was exhausted, but as it was midnight he was sure this party in Mayfair was still going strong. He said he would take Rose back to her aunt's and that was what he intended to do.

When he arrived, the same music and noise greeted him as at the last party. Rose was nowhere to be found. He inquired but either they didn't know who she was, or said she was about somewhere.

Lady Ursula was finally located. "We collected our treasures and brought them back here, but then Rose went with Adele to powder her nose. I've not seen her since."

Matthew was now quite concerned. He moved swiftly from room to room, even opening up the doors to private chambers if they were unlocked.

He found her dancing in a kind of trance like state. She was euphoric, yet with a glazed eye and agitation that was the culmination of his fears.

She said to Matthew, "Come along here, sir, and dance. I want to dance all night. Put on another record. I was on the winning scavenger hunt team. We found the chauffeur's cap and won!" She flung herself on his shoulder.

"I think we should leave instead." Matthew was gently insistent. He knew she had taken something, cocaine most probably. Although not illegal, the government was beginning to crack down on narcotics following their use among soldiers in the war. It was one of the ways to enter oblivion.

And Rose had found it. Matthew needed to help her.

"Lean on me. We're going." He pushed her up and they walked towards his car.

"My knight in shining armour." She murmured and pressed into his arms as he tried to hold her up.

He placed her in the passenger seat. Got in and made the left turn towards his own lodgings.

He did not know where else to take her.

XX

 _Oh Matthew... Aftermaths to follow…._


	15. Chapter 15: Deux esprits troublés

XX

 _Matthew needed to help her._

 _"Lean on me. We're going." He pushed her up and they walked towards his car._

 _"My knight in shining armour." She murmured and pressed into his arms as he tried to hold her up._

 _He placed her in the passenger seat. Got in and made the left turn towards his own lodgings._

 _He did not know where else to take her._

XX

Matthew stopped the car in front of his rooms. Rose was tunelessly humming a recent revue hit song. Her head was on his shoulder. When he opened his driver side's door and got out, she slumped down with a whimper.

He left her there until he walked around the car to open the passenger door. Rose's behaviour on the ride over exasperated him. She kept trying to get out every time he had to stop and he kept shoving her back into the seat.

"Stay there." His words took on the command tone he used in the army. The kind that brooked no opposition.

But she started to once again. He sighed, walked back towards the car, and helped her out of the passenger door. He lifted her left arm over his head and leveraged her weight beside his own.

"Can you walk at all?" He asked. The pain in his back spasmed.

"Don't think so…" Her words slurring. But she did take a few steps towards the front door. Steps that started to twist and turn as she started humming again.

"Stop it." He slipped once, but regained his balance.

Matthew eased the key into the lock. Rose leaned heavily on his shoulder. He grunted and lifted her up to better balance his own body.

"I'm quite partial to dancing you know…." She muttered. "I don't know why you took me away…." Her words blurred and fuzzy. She tried to release herself from Matthew's grasp. "Let me go. I want to go back." She started to struggle in his arms.

"Stay right where you are." Matthew's tone sharp.

"I'm not one of your men…" She wriggled some more. "You can't order me about."

She lolled her head back and Matthew grunted in disgust. "Stop that. Keep your head level or we'll both fall down."

"I will order you as I please." Matthew snapped. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Rose's answer was whinish and snarky. "Oh I'm so sorry to have disturbed you. Do get on without me. I'll cuckoo with Phyllis, she's this divvy daughter of a investment banker met at the party…" She writhed again and attempted to free herself. "Let me go…." She yelped.

Matthew's grip tightened on her arm. His words terse. His face red and intense. "Look here Rose. You can struggle all you want. I won't let you go. You've behaved like a silly girl. And as such a silly girl, you should consider it a great favour when someone has taken time out of his life to go fetch you at God knows what hour and take care of you. If you don't obey what I say, I will turn you out and onto the street."

He glared at her. "Or should I send you back to your Aunt Rosamund's…"

"Oh no." Rose fluttered her eyelids. "I'll obey you Matthew." She looked at him, her eyes dilated and rounded large. "I'd much rather be under your protection."

"Then do as I say." His tone became gentler. "Let's climb these stairs."

She leaned in, close to his chest. "Are you taking me to bed..." She started to giggle. "What will the servants say..."

Matthew exhaled noisily and heaved her back into a semi standing position and guided her up the steps to the upper landing of his flat.

Matthew led her into his bedroom. He laid Rose lightly on the covered bed. She curled up like a child against the pillows. "Will you stay with me?"

He had to. His back spasms threatened to incapacitate him. He sat down in the soft leather chair that had been delivered from Selfridge's earlier that day.

A blissful few minutes followed. He closed his eyes trying to remember if he bought some paracetamol at the druggist.

Then Rose started to toss and turn.

She sat up and stretched, a strap of her gown falling over her shoulder. "I'm not tired at all."

"I'm not surprised. Cocaine heightens the nerves. How much did you take?" Matthew resigned himself to a long night.

"A snifter or two…." Rose's eyes beetled back and forth. "Rummy Tisch said it would just be a pick me up. We were all feeling so bluey after Davey's car failed to win…"

"Oh yes." Matthew lampooned. "Rummy Tisch sounds like an ideal source of knowledge on addictive stimulants. And who is he in life? A medical doctor perchance?"

Rose's eyes narrowed. "You can be a real stinker."

"I'm not the one who got blotto on cocktails and cocaine." Matthew maintained evenly.

"What do you know about it anyway? Mr. Goody Two Shoes. I bet you never even tried it. No wonder they call you Galahad? You're as pure as the driven snow…" Her words slurred as she slumped again down among the pillows. She groaned. "My head is pounding….I think I might be sick..."

"Oh no you won't. Not on my brand new sheets." But he watched her cautiously. Anxious that she had done far more damage to her health than he first imagined. She thought herself so grown up.

She simply groaned but no more.

Matthew made a move to get up out of the chair. "I'll make us some tea." He had supplied the small kitchen with some immediate needs earlier that day.

"Stay there!" He ordered as she made a move to get up.

"I can't sleep in this dress… it'll wrinkle…" And she started to remove the blouse.

"Stop." Matthew barked. "Wait there…" He looked around the room and realized he left the small bag of luggage in the hall, ready for his trip to Germany. He exited the bedroom and down the short walk to the front door. It was against the wall. He rummaged around, found what he wanted, and closed the case again.

He walked back into the bedroom. Rose was standing near the window, one finger parting the curtains to gaze into nothing. The night pitch black. She looked so pensive, so young, Matthew felt the first tinge of pity. She had lived through so much in her not quite 21 years of life.

He should know. He lived a couple lifetimes himself.

She turned, her face casting the hollowed out, dead eyed look of a fellow survivor.

"I sometimes wonder why I'm here." She whispered to Matthew's shadow in the doorway. "I mean really, why am I so special?" Her face upturned, biting her lip.

"Or is that the great joke?" He answered. "That we aren't important at all. We're the flotsam and jetsam. All the important ones, the smart ones died. They knew when to make a good exit."

A bitter snort escaped her lips. "Exactly…" And she crumpled, as if simply the weight of standing up was too much effort.

Matthew led her back to the bed. "Here." Matthew said softly. "Put these on." He placed a pair of new pyjamas on the bed. Mary had ordered him sets at the same tailor she encouraged him to visit on Savile Row for the suits he was to take with him to Berlin. "I'll finish up the tea." And he left the room.

His hand shook as he poured the tea into two mugs.

XX

Later, much later she fell into a fitful slumber. Waking several times, Matthew did not trust her. She woke once to find him in the chair, dozing with one eye half lidded to keep an eye on her.

"Why are you being so kind?" She asked. Matthew opened both eyes. She finally sounded sober. "I've been nothing but a mean spirited brat to you?"

His mouth turned into a half grin. "I have a soft spot for the downtrodden."

Rose chuckled softly. She curled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. "I've never done that before, please believe me. I wanted to think it would help me escape."

"Escape?" but really Matthew already knew the answer.

"To forget…" Her words stumbling. "It's always there. The pressure of him. The loss of him. I can't escape it. Mother would say 'botheration girl, snap out of it.' That is of course if she knew at all, which she doesn't. I can't tell her."

"I think you might be surprised." Matthew leaned forward in the leather chair. "I might give your mother a chance. She's had her own suffering you aren't aware of I dare imagine. Could bring you closer."

Rose looked doubtful.

Matthew's voice sad to Rose's ears. "I'd give anything almost to have more time with my mother."

"What happened to her?"

"She died in a German air raid in Paris." The matter of factness belying the emotions beneath. He shifted in the chair. "It was almost three years now. She was an amazing woman. Stubborn and sure of herself to the point of indignation, but funny. We always had a good laugh."

"So you know…. You really do know." Rose shoved a pillow behind her head. "But my mother and father would not have approved of my relationship with Peter. She'd call me a slut. He'd despair of ever making a good marriage for me."

"Were you planning on getting married?" Matthew's hands were steepled in front of his face.

"Yes. I'm sure Mother would have said that was foolish, because of the war or whatever. And maybe she would have been right. Everything was so of the moment, then. We might have regretted it. I'll never know…"

"I lost my wife as well." Matthew revealed to Rose. "She died of the flu in late 1918. We married in a rush of affection, or so I told myself." He shrunk back against the leather back of the chair. She could hardly hear his last words.

"Did you regret your marriage?" Rose inquired. "I'm not just morbidly curious, I keep asking myself over and over would we have been happy? Or is it all just in my mind."

Matthew was quiet for quite a while. Contemplating an answer. "I can't speak of your relationship, Rose. It's special to you. And I'm sure you loved Peter. The war heightened emotions to be sure. But that's to be expected. The fact you're still hurting means a great deal. I am ashamed to say I feel instead a great deal of remorse. That I put Lavinia in the position of being married to a man who was not as much in love as she was. I wanted the security of marriage I thought at the time. As if that would give me something to live for. Only it was a sham. And perhaps if she had not married me, she might still be alive. That's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life."

"I'm sure I'll never marry. I'll never be as totally, absolutely in love." She pulled up the covers around her shoulders. "You seem much better now, though. So perhaps there is hope for me."

Matthew said nothing. Mary had saved him. He had been a drowning man and she rescued him from what had become the oblivion of his life. But he wouldn't know how to say that to Rose without disclosing the shocking nature of their initial meeting. Something he suspected, Rose's mother would not like him telling her impetuous daughter.

Instead he sat up straight in the chair. "I think you're recovered sufficiently. You really should have known better. You saw as much as I did the effects of narcotics in hospital."

"I gave out plenty of morphine through syrettes or orally to the wounded." Rose replied. "The screams of pain were so loud. It was the only method of relief."

Matthew well remembered. "So many are still addicted. I see them on the streets all the time. It's very dangerous way to forget, Rose. Please tell me you'll never try that again."

"I won't Matthew." She looked at him directly in his eyes. "It didn't even make me forget. Just made it worse." She yawned. "And gave me a massive headache."

She cuddled the pillows. Yawning again.

Matthew stood up. "I'll leave you to rest."

"Thank you Matthew. For not sitting in judgement against me. You are really a most wonderful man." And then she was asleep.

Matthew closed the door and laid down on the sofa in the sitting room. He finally closed his eyes and slept. He had given up completely on idea of getting an early start tomorrow for the coast and the ferry to France. Earlier as Rose fidgeted he had telephoned Rosamund's residence and informed the butler that Rose was on her way to Scotland and her parents. A slight white lie that was. He didn't want any argument about where she stayed the night.

But that meant in the morning he would have to put her on the train to Scotland. And he'd have to turn around quickly and get ready for his own trip to Berlin. He could take a later train he reckoned and still make it to Germany in time to meet up with the rest of the diplomatic mission.

But as Robert Burns so presciently said, "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley." They both overslept. Matthew waking up only to the sounds of car horns and hawkers outside his window.

And his back was stiff as a board. He winced in pain as he stretched. Stumbled over to the kettle and put it on.

"Rose." He called out. Knocked on the door. "We need to make a move."

The grumbling from inside told him she too was still half-asleep.

"Get ready, please." He insisted. "We'll have a meal out and then it's to Euston station."

He shaved in the hall bathroom and then moved into the kitchen to give Rose privacy as she dressed.

"I look a fright. But I can make it to Scotland." She said. "But what about my trunks and clothes?"

"I had a word with Rosamund's butler last night. He said he'd forward all your things to Duneagle."

"Darling Matthew," Rose gushed. "What would I do without you?"

Within the hour the two were out onto the sidewalk and walking to the Savoy where Rose insisted upon eating.

"I'll have the glazed omelette Arnold Bennet." Rose did not even look at the menu. "I heard from Lady Violette that it's simply divvy. Then champagne?"

"No." Matthew rejoined. "Coffee and no arguments." He turned to the waiter. "And I'll have the same"

Rose hummed breezily.

"You're in a better mood." Matthew was happy to see.

"I'm never down for long." Rose replied. "I've heard it's a family trait. And we still have a lovely lunch to enjoy before I'm on the train back to gloomyville."

Matthew scoffed quietly. "I'm sure it won't be that bad."

"You've never been among the heather. It's awful. You should feel terrible you're sending me back north. With a monster for a jailer." She clucked and took a sip of her coffee.

Matthew drew her eyes to his own. "You must promise me to try to get along."

"When will you be visiting? Tell me you will be visiting? You must. I'll die otherwise." Her tone elongated and desperate.

"I think I heard Robert saying something about going up for the grouse shooting." Matthew replied hardly believing he now associated with the set who spent their idle time shooting poor helpless birds.

"Oh thank God." Rose replied dramatically. "We'll take long walks. I'll show you all my favourite spots."

"I thought you hated Scotland," Matthew drew his eyebrow up in mock astonishment.

"Well," Rose admitted. "Near the loch is quite beautiful."

After the lunch and a quick ride to Euston station, Matthew bought Rose a ticket home.

"Will you wait with me?" Rose fidgeted with her gloves.

"Yes. I want to make sure you get on it." He joked.

And sooner rather than later, to Matthew's gratitude as he kept glancing at his watch, the train conductor called for the passengers to board.

He opened the First Class compartment. "Get in then."

Rose smiled and did so.

The whistle blew and the train started. At the last minute Rose bent down and kissed Matthew on the mouth. "Thank you kind sir. I shall be bereft until we meet again."

Astonished at her boldness, Matthew was taken aback. But before he could protest, Rose had disappeared into the train cabin.

He was left alone on the platform.

She was such a child, Matthew mused as he walked back towards the front of the station. He had to get back to his rooms and pick up his luggage for his own trip to Dover.

Sweet and intelligent. Fun to be around. But lost. And she frankly exhausted him.

Her companionship was pleasant. But he longed to see Mary. To hold her in his arms. To hear her heart as he put his ear to her breast. To kiss her sweet, soft lips. To know that she loved him, and he loved her.

The trip to Berlin loomed large and he turned his mind to the trade issues and diplomatic mission ahead of him. He wanted to make a good impression on Sir Eyre as he was being given the lead in this visit. If well done, it could be a career maker for him. The potential for it being a springboard to a career in politics made Matthew's head spin in fear and dread.

Part of him still wanted to laze about in Paris writing his novel. Taking long walks along the Seine with Mary. But he knew that was impossible. His future, their future lay before them at Downton as Earl and Countess eventually. Before them in London as he took up his post with the Foreign Office.

The possibility of children as well. He quickened his steps towards Victoria station as he was already late according to the train timetables.

She would make such a wonderful mother.

They were to meet in Paris after his fortnight in Berlin. He would hold to that promised reunion to see him through going to the land of his former enemy.

Germany.

He had shot and killed his fair share of Boche in the war. Meant to be a term of derision and scorn, he had no real enmity towards the Germans. They did as they were told as he had done. They had been good fighters. A respected enemy by his fellow soldiers. It had been an ugly war of attrition.

And the peace was a shambles in Matthew's opinion. One he kept largely to himself. That would make him no friends in Whitehall.

So he'd do his best with the mission as set forth by his betters at the Foreign Office. And then make as quick as possible for Paris and Mary.

He caught the train, only realizing at the last minute that he had not telephoned her to relate his night with Rose to Mary.

Matthew creased his brow in consternation. He didn't intend to hide it from her…

She would surely understand….

XX

 _Thus begins this next part of the story… Oh Matthew and Rose… two lost souls they are…_

 _Comments?㈴2㈴2_


	16. Chapter 16: la seule fille dans le monde

XX

" _Ich hoffe, dass diese neue Weimarer Republik besser mit den Strömungen des extremen Nationalismus umgehen kann. Sonst könnte es möglicherweise in einem weiteren Krieg enden.."_ Matthew tried not to get to animated in his discussion with his equal from the German delegation, but his right hand balled into a fist and he slammed it into his left to emphasize his point.

The older man noted, " _Sie klingen immer noch wie ein Soldat. Sie müssen lernen, wie ein Diplomat zu sprechen."_

Matthew nodded, knowing he was letting his private views get the better of him. _"Ja. Danke…"_ The fortnight was finally drawing to a close. Nothing had been finalized but the members of the trade delegation seemed pleased with the inroads made. As head of the diplomatic mission Matthew had seen to it that an air of friendship and cooperation existed between Britain and this new post-war Weimar Republic of Germany.

It had not been easy. The January Spartacist revolt, the _Januaraufstand,_ had ended in bloodshed and rancor between the socialist, communist, and nationalists factions that fought for control of post-war Germany. While it was in the British best interest to support the government that replaced the Kaiser, Matthew was unsure of Weimar's motivations and their ability to stave off further uprisings from the left and the right of the German political spectrum.

The streets weren't the safest places as random acts of violence could erupt at any time. Freikorps, groups of disgruntled ex -German army soldiers no longer needed or wanted under the terms of the Treaty of Versailles, found work as mercenaries protecting the interests of those who paid them or met their own political agendas.

Matthew just wanted to get out with as little harm as possible to either delegation or relations with Weimar.

Paris beckoned.

Mary.

Tomorrow morning he was to take the train to the Gare du Nord station in Paris.

Matthew and his German colleague sat, enduring another of Sir Edward Foxe's harangues about the bad weather and inedible food of his hosts. The canned goods manufacturer had been the bane of Matthew's time in Berlin. The man just would not stop whinging.

" _Ich sagte ihm, er solle aufhören sich zu beschweren."_ Matthew rubbed his brow.

Bernhard von Hertling clucked and waved away Matthew's concerns. " _Es ist nichts. Ich sagte das Gleiche bei Oxford vor dem Krieg._ _Scheint in diesem Land nie die Sonne?_

The two chuckled. Matthew said good night and retired to his hotel room to finish packing.

Tomorrow could not come quick enough.

XX

"Mary you must listen to me." Rosamund's voice was insistent. "Lady Caroline will gossip all over London what she saw at the Savoy Grille. It's too juicy to resist."

"What is?" Mary tried to dismiss her aunt's concerns. Her voice turned haughty. "A simple lunch?"

"You know as well as I there's no such thing a simple lunch. Especially between a married man and a young woman known to be not his wife." Rosamund countered. "So you better well listen to me."

Mary's eye rolled in contempt. "I know my husband…."

"And I know you two have already been written about in the _Sketch_. You're developing quite the reputation."

"Matthew wouldn't do such a thing." Mary's teeth were gritted.

"A man you've known barely two months? That's suspicious as well. He's already got a reputation as a rake who is out for the main chance." Rosamund snapped. "And quite frankly the same is being said of you. That you deserve him because you married only to snatch the next heir."

Mary's head pounded. She was tired. Had been sick once again this morning. She was in no mood to hear Rosamund's repetition of old news.

"Matthew had his inheritance thrust upon him under the worst of circumstances. How dare anyone say anything else? He's suffered enough. I won't hear any stupid women chatter anything against him." Mary pushed herself out of the armchair. "If he had lunch with Rose it was perfectly above board."

"After he telephoned that he had put her on the train the previous night?" Rosamund got up to face Mary.

"I won't believe it." Mary was adamant. "It isn't what it seems."

"Is there room for misinterpretation? You have been steered by an expert hand into a convenient marriage for himself while he gets what he wants on the side."

Mary scoffed. "You don't have any right to say that about Matthew. I told him to see to Rose. She can be a difficult child."

"She's not a child, that's the point. She's 20 and quite fetching. We both saw how well they got on in London."

"So what?" Mary wanted to scream.

"Good looking boys like him get whatever they want." Rosamund hissed. "Listen to sense my girl."

"No I won't." Mary's voice was cold and sharp. "I won't listen to anything of the kind. I might not have known Matthew very long. But he's my husband. He's taken an interest in Rose is all. He's overprotective."

Rosamund's eyes narrowed to slits. "Let's just hope you're right. Otherwise we will all rue the day that man walked into our lives."

Mary could listen to no more. "I'm going upstairs to check on Sybil and the baby." And she fled the room before she either burst into tears or slapped Rosamund across the face.

On the stairs she felt dizzy. Grabbing the handrail she made her way up to the second landing.

Entering Sybil's room she found the new mother and child just finishing up nursing.

"Come in. Come in." Sybil said. "She'll fall asleep and I'm in need of some company."

"I'm not sure how good company I'll be. Rosamund has left me in quite the foul mood." Mary sat down on the window seat.

"Why is that?" Sybil made herself more comfortable in the chair near the window after putting Sybbie in the crib.

"Oh rumour and gossip I'm afraid. She's telling tales about Matthew and Rose. Positively eager as you please to relate it to me. Says they were seen cuddling and kissing at the Savoy Grille last week when she was supposed to be in Scotland and he was to have taken the train to Germany." Mary glanced out the window. "It's nonsense of course."

"It doesn't sound like the Matthew we've come to know." Sybil agreed. "He's been so kind and loving towards you. And he tried to talk sense into Tom."

Sybil was expecting Tom back any day. He had telegrammed that he and Kieran would be making the crossing on Sunday, weather depending. All was well with the family but no one else could afford to make the trip.

"I'm glad Tom is safe." Mary took Sybil's hand. "And thank you for standing up for Matthew…."

"But…" Sybil was aware of a touch of nervousness still in Mary's voice.

Mary glanced up through dark eyes. "It's just Rosamund. Getting under my skin. She's so sure of herself. And she doesn't even know…." She broke off the thought. How could she even think such things? It was disloyal. But with Matthew gone, she missed him so… and she was not feeling well at all lately.

"Know that you had an affair with Matthew before your marriage?" Sybil noted. "That he swept you off your feet with a look and a glance?"

"And a bit of French poetry?" Mary laughed. It was good to finally laugh. "Yes he did that."

Sybil nodded. "That's better. Matthew loves you more than life. Don't listen to Rosamund. She's bored. Relating gossip gives her something to do. She's jealous of Rose's youth. And your happiness."

"Are you saying she needs a man?" Mary sarcastically observed.

"Wouldn't do her any harm?" Sybil giggled. "Everybody's doing it…" And then she got more serious. "Speaking of that I've noticed you're off colour. A bit peaky lately. You do know why don't you?" And she turned her eye directly to Mary.

The two women looked at each other. Mary was silent.

"What?" Mary finally said, taken aback by Sybil's surety. "I am not. I can't be…"

"Really?" Sybil grinned. "I think the way you and Matthew retreat to your bedroom early every night when he's at Downton, it's more than likely you are."

"A baby?" Mary felt her stomach. "Is that why I've been so unwell? I never even thought. I mean the doctor said I would need an operation."

"Was he very sure about that?"

"No." Mary admitted. "He said nature might take its course."

"I think it has." Sybil leaned back in the chair. "A little cousin for Sybbie. How marvelous. You should go to London to see Dr. Ryder again. To make sure."

Mary's eyes danced suddenly in happiness. "I can't believe it. Matthew will be over the moon. Something to tell him when I meet him in Paris next week."

"How is he doing?" Sybil was distracted by the infant's mewling. She reached down and took her out of the crib.

He's been unable to telephone at all. The line is all crackles and disconnections."

"Does he intend to stay in London? We will be moving there when Tom finds work with one of the papers. His editor in Dublin has promised to put in a good word for him."

Mary was pleased. "So he's decided to settle in England after all?"

"Yes." Sybil said, the baby's soft cheek next to her own. "He realized he was being selfish. And he doesn't want to go back alone anymore."

"I'm glad. Matthew and I intend to go house hunting when he gets back. There are several town homes in Eaton Square that are quite suitable." Mary disclosed.

"I'm not sure we can afford that quite yet." Sybil replied. "Kensington maybe."

Mary sniffed imperceptibly.

"Don't be such a snob Mary." Sybil slyly smirked. "I don't think Matthew cares where he lives as long as you two are together."

Mary knew the truth of that. "Still, I think I will walk by them when I'm in London waiting to take the train to Dover."

"When do you meet Matthew in Paris?" Sybil was adjusting the baby against her shoulder.

"A few days from now. I want to be in Paris before his train arrives. I've booked us rooms at the Hôtel Ritz." Mary's eyes were drawn to the baby. To how content Sybil was.

"Do you want to hold her?" Sybil asked.

Mary reached out her hands and clasped the baby's head and abdomen. She clucked and cooed gently as little Sybbie stretched and reached out a tiny hand.

Mary grasped it in her finger.

She could barely breath she was so happy.

XX

The train whistled as it roared into the Gare du Nord.

Matthew emerged from his compartment. He quickly glanced up and down the track.

Where was Mary? He licked his lips and looked again left and right. He put down his case. A porter was bringing his luggage.

The bustle of the crowd hid many people from his view. He had telegrammed her knowing she had arrived in Paris the day before. Hers to him in Berlin simply stated that she would be there upon his arrival.

Oh he missed her. He physically ached to hold her.

"Matthew." Mary's voice came to him from afar. He turned and lifted up on his tip toes to see beyond the women's hats in his way. Instead she came up behind him and clasped his hand.

He turned. His bright smile lifted her spirits. She had been pacing up and down the platform waiting.

"Mary. Mary…." His lips lightly on hers. "Mary." They slipped along her neck.

She leaned into his touch. "I have rooms for us at the Hotel Ritz."

"Good." His voice that deep timbre he kept usually for their bedroom.

They continued to embrace as the crowd buffeted them left and right. "Let's get out of here." Matthew's whispered appeal.

Mary could only nod. She had felt his arms. His heat. His lips. She wanted all of him. There was so much to tell him. To ask him. Rosamund turned out to be partially right. There had been some gossip swirling in London society. Nothing direct to Mary's ears.

Not yet. Just the chinwagging of the bored. The judgmental.

But there was no way she was wrong in Matthew's love. His touch did not lie. Nor did his lips.

She was more than curious about it all though. What did they get up to?

And then of course the news about the baby.

All in good time.

They took a taxi to the hotel. Mary had chosen one of the best set of suites.

Matthew saw nothing except his wife. "My darling. Darling…." As soon as the door was closed behind the porter, he whisked her off her feet and onto the bed.

He laid her down carefully onto the pillows. A blonde lock falling down his forehead as he gazed down upon her. "I've thought about this moment ever since I left York. Did you miss me?"

"Ever so much." Mary confessed. She pulled him down for a long, deep kiss.

They made love with a mad passion. He removed her garments as carefully as his anxious fingers could. She pulled off the jacket and waistcoat and undid his trousers even as he groaned at her touch and lifted her chemise over her head.

He caught his breath when she was naked beneath him. "I feel like a man starved. But should we... I mean what you told me in London before I left. About wanting to wait?" He swallowed thickly. He really did not think he could wait any longer to take her. To be one with her.

"Never mind that." Mary responded quickly. "Come here..." She demanded. And she pushed her body up to meet his throbbing erection with a shuddering groan of pleasure. "Now. Yes. Yes."

Matthew's body betrayed him and he laid claim to her body. He was rough and demanding of her. His lips and teeth making quick bites along the nape of her neck.

Mary felt every inch of his shaft inside her. They each bucked and pulled against each other. His grunts grew loud with each thrust.

Wave upon crashing wave of pleasure overcame her. Each time she thought the peak had subsided, it came again.

His own, when it came, shattered him. His muscles spasmed and tightened and his breaths were shallow.

Matthew groaned into her hair as his body finally yielded up its last gasp of delight. Mary felt his delicious weight upon her until he lifted up and let go. He crashed down beside her.

Neither said anything. Neither were capable of saying anything or wanted to break the rapturous moment of euphoric resolution. Each panted quietly. Beads of sweat on Matthew's brow proof of his exertions. Mary's fingers crept over his chest to feel his heart beating fast.

Matching her own.

In what seemed like hours, but was actually just minutes later Matthew managed to say, "I think I hate my job."

"Really?" Mary well knew what he was to say. "Why?"

"Because it takes me away from you." His breath tickling her ear. " _Mein Schatz, mein Liebling_."

"We have all the time in the world now, though. Don't we darling? Say you don't have to leave soon." Mary's leg languidly moved over his, interwining with his own.

"No." His voice hoarse as her ministrations roused him again. "Not for a good while. Sir Eyre said Balfour was very pleased in one of his last actions as Foreign Secretary that we did such a good job under very strenuous circumstances. Therefore we would not be reconvening for at least a few weeks. Parliament is out of session. The King is in Scotland."

Mary cuddled closer. "Then we can take our time. "

She lifted her head up from where she had rested it on his chest. "This is the first time you've not complained I've chosen a luxurious accommodation for us. Don't tell me you've gone soft?"

Matthew chuckled deep in his throat. "Germany took austerity to a new level. The privations are quite unsettling. I won't complain about hot water, electricity, and plenty to eat."

"I'm glad you don't have to go straight back into it." Her fingers idly roaming across his abdomen.

His own wandering hand found its resting place on her right breast. He teased the nipple into an erect peak making Mary moan delightfully.

"Matthew." Mary said struggling to keep her composure under such exquisite torture. "I have some news."

"Hmmmm" Matthew glanced down at Mary's face. "Everyone is in good health I trust. Tom make it back in one piece?"

"Yes. Sybil telephoned he arrived two days ago. His rather outspoken brother in tow."

Matthew then remembered how remiss he had been upon leaving without telling Mary about the circumstances of Rose.

"Have you heard from Rose?"He asked, maybe rather too innocently.

Mary raised an eyebrow. "Have I? Yes. She's been on the line to me twice just in the past few days about your return."

Matthew gulped nervously. "Oh?"

Mary lifted herself reluctantly off Matthew's body. She curled a sheet around herself and sat facing him. "Matthew exactly what went on with Rose after I said you should see to her at the races? I've had to endure Aunt Rosamund recounting second hand gossip that you and Rose spent the night together then had a quiet _tête-à-tête_ at the Savoy. You said she was on a train to Scotland."

Matthew was stunned. He had been so immersed in the German mission he had not given any of his adventures with Rose a thought. He should have known better than to take her to such a public place for lunch.

"That was partially a lie." He sat up as well. Took Mary's hand. "I didn't want to argue at 2am if the butler got Rosamund on the line. Truth is Rose was in a very bad way. She ..." He paused. "I found her later at a party. In a drug induced stupor. Cocaine. So I took her back to my rooms. I was only trying to help." He scratched his scalp. "I'm sorry."

"So she did spend the night." It wasn't exactly an accusation.

"Erm...Yes. I couldn't just chuck her out. We talked and I gave her some tea. I slept on the sofa in the sitting room." His shoulders slumped. "I meant to tell you. I had to catch the train ..."

"While still managing a long lunch at the Savoy?"

"She was hungry." He so innocently explained away a lunch with young woman not his wife. He gripped the side of his mouth with his teeth. "So was I. We were up until all hours. I put her on a train to Scotland..."

Only then did Mary pick up a slight prevarication.

Matthew's eyes moved ever so slightly back and forth. He seemed reluctant to continue.

Mary waited.

"Funny thing really... uh... Rose kissed me. As she boarded the train." He looked Mary in the eyes then. "I did nothing to promote that response. You must believe me." He blinked rapidly.

He looked so concerned. So chastened, Mary could only laugh. She reached out and lovingly put her hands through his locks of hair. He gripped her hand and kissed the palm.

How could she be mad? This was why she loved him so much.

"You did nothing but be your own self." Mary replied, all of it finally making sense to her. "She's developed quite the crush on you."

"I was only trying to help. She's so lost." Matthew was so relieved Mary understood.

"She's confused your kindness for fondness. But in so doing you've given everyone quite the wrong idea. I'm sure it will blow over, but you will have to let Rose down gently."

Matthew looked chagrined. "I will."

Then it was Mary's turn to stare. To suddenly develop a chill. She pulled the sheets around her closer. Rose could relate to Matthew in the one area that he still kept to himself. He so seldom talked about the war. His injury. She still knew so little about it. Rose as a nurse did not need lengthy explanations. She would just know. And relate.  
Could she draw Matthew out on this subject? Would he welcome it? Or shut her out?

She would risk it. "What did you talk about?"

"When?" He asked partially absent mindedly, so glad Mary had forgiven him.

"With Rose." Mary's voice quavered.

"Oh." Matthew replied, understanding. He sighed heavily. "The war."

"Things you don't feel right talking about with me?"

Matthew felt a slight distance grow between them.

"I don't want to burden you." His voice became detached. "It's not a subject I find conducive to discussion."

But Mary would not be put off.

"I want to know. I want to help you. How did you know she was drugged?"

His eyes were darkened, a veil of protection. "Because I almost became an addict to morphine."

Mary blinked in surprise.

He felt wretched. He let her down. Such things were signs of weakness in a man's character to people of her society. They became objects of mockery and ridicule and scorn. He'd heard it enough times in the immediate post war as he'd overhear conversations at social gatherings. "I say," one nob would say to another, "Did you hear about old Parker? Off the beam on drink. Letting the side down for sure." And they'd tsk tsk and move on. Sniffing in disapproval. It had been one of the reasons he had disassociated himself from most of his friends from the officers clubs and university and spent so much time alone in Paris.

He felt more comfortable alone with only his own thoughts and demons for company. He had been the cat who must walk by himself all places being alike.

Then he bumped into Mary on a summer's day in June.

Across their rumpled bed sheets, Mary sensed his reluctance. She reached out to him. "Please tell me."

He gave her a hard look. Could he really reveal the darkest moments of his life to someone else? Then he knew the answer. Of course he could. They had known each other such a brief time, and yet he trust her implicitly. They had already been through so much. She had been his anchor during the search for the truth about his father.

He could be vulnerable to this woman. And she would not think less of him.

"The ward I was in used morphine to relieve pain. For most of us there was no alternative." Matthew spoke quietly. Mary leaned in to catch each word.

"This was because of your spinal injury? Diana told me your recovery took longer than you let on to me." She noticed his hand shaking.

"It took almost a year. My mother died in that middle period of my recuperation. I had several bouts of infection during the initial months, while I was still incapacitated. It delayed my recovery. I lost weight. The pain was excruciating as my body recovered from the bruising, the atrophied muscles. They kept wanting to give me the morphine. I stopped cold. Because I saw so many others become dependent. They gave it out for everything. I don't blame the doctors. But instead I chose to endure it."

"Endure it?" Mary inquired with concern. "The pain?"

"Yes." He shrugged. "When you sit for such a prolonged period of time in a wheelchair, your muscles atrophy. So when the sensations returned and I was forced to exercise by the physiotherapists it was agony. Every step ached and sharp stinging bursts of pain shot up my legs. I fell down so many times those early months. Collapsed in a heap, yelling out to leave me the hell alone. But they wouldn't let me. And when I refused the shots, they let me find my own way. Eventually it got better. Easier. They found ways to distract my mind from the pain. And the repetitive boredom of therapy. Exercise in gymnasiums..."

"And learning the tango?" Mary remembered.

"Absolutely. That was right near the end as I was being discharged back to service. I had use of a cane by then. And a regimen to follow. The back pain flares up every now and then, but it's manageable with aspirin and such." He didn't really want to have Mary believe he was some kind of invalid.

"I'm one of the lucky ones." He admitted. "Sometimes you think you're one of the dead. The living dead. Left out of life. But then you see men on the street, old soldiers who are so beyond any help they are lost to life."

He shook his head. "I didn't want to leave Rose with people who didn't care about her or really about themselves. They want the oblivion to take over. But that's not living. She has to have the chance to live. To love again. She won't if she stayed around those types."

If it was possible, Mary thought, I love him even more now than ever.

She gripped his hand tight. "Oh Matthew. You are such a good man. But you cannot take up everyone's burdens. I'm so glad you helped Rose. But now she has to go down the next part of her story by herself. She must find her own way. Her own happiness."

Matthew gave her a crooked smile. He nodded.

Mary then sat up and decided she had to reveal her own innermost thoughts. She took a deep breath. "Besides, you'll wear yourself out in being Sir Galahad. And I need you to be well rested."

He creased his brow in confusion.

She smiled and touched her still not showing abdomen.

His eyes grew large. Then worried. He sat forward. "You had the procedure without me? Are you in pain? You should have stayed at home. I should have been with you.."

"No darling you misunderstand. I'm with child. Dr Ryder confirmed it. I did go see him but only because I wanted to be sure in order to tell you. Sybil told me my being sick in the mornings and tired were sure symptoms. She encouraged me to go."

"Mary. I...I..." He stumbled with his words in his happiness. "Oh my love." He leaned forward, reaching out and enfolded Mary completely in his arms. Her body warm and soft against his naked torso. His lips tickled as he grazed the curls of Mary's hair, buried his face in the depths of those long tresses.

"You're going to be such a wonderful mother. I can't wait. Do we need to do anything? We should get you home..."

Mary could tell he was already thinking she was fragile.

"We can stay on here in Paris for awhile. I won't be kept inside like a cosseted invalid. I won't break." She warned teasingly.

"So we can still..." And he his eyes turned seductive and dark.

"I won't survive the next nine months without it." Her breathing shallow as he reached down to release the sheets that hid her naked body from his sight.

XX

 _Should Mary have forgiven him so easily?_

 _I did my best with the German! :) Thank you so much Junia Grey for your help! ALL mistakes are still mine!_

 _We'll pick up with them in Paris and later York as they tell the family and Matthew deals with Rose..._

 _and new problems emerge as Downton moves into the '20s. Matthew and Mary make decisions on where to live..._


	17. Chapter 17: Les joies de la vie

_I know it's been awhile since I updated Hearts and Bones, but I do love this story so much… here's some more Mary and Matthew and Rose and Tom and the family!_

XX

The telegram fell from Matthew's hand and into his lap. He wasn't sure he could take any more death.

He tried to get a grip, but the memory took hold.

….

 _He was beyond help. He had no idea of the time, or exactly where he was._

 _But once a task begun…_

 _He stumbled along the Seine towards his next stop. He was making his way through all the cafes and bars along the Lower Montmartre_

 _He had started out at the Le Sunset._

 _The sultry voiced woman on stage was an American jazz songstress. Her sophisticated styling was imperious and velvety. The tune was sad. The notes long and melancholy._

 _He liked it._

 _The smoke made everything a blur. A haze. It hurt his eyes._

 _But he lit up anyway. He wanted to be a part of the haze._

 _He put the cigarette to his mouth. A cheap one, so it burned._

 _The smoke hid him away from the rest of the crowd. They all were shadows. Shadows of reality. Like one of those kinetoscope projectors with strips of perforated film moving intermittently so that each image was jerky and in slow motion._

 _There and not there._

 _He wanted to lose himself in that anonymity._

 _He wanted to fall apart._

"Garçon, une bouteille de votre meilleur . . . "..." _His hand gesticulated outward in a vaguely grand wave. He tried to sound the bon vivant._

 _The server tried to answer helpfully, "…_ vin _?"_

 _Matthew considered it. "_ Cognac…. Erm… non. Uh… Champagne _!" He slapped his hand down on the table, but he missed as his hand slipped because he lost his balance._

 _The man walked away. Matthew slumped against the hard back of the chair. He lifted a foot and tilted the chair back against the wall._

 _He wanted to stop his mind. From thinking. From caring._

 _From living._

"Ah, non, non, deux bouteilles…" _Matthew shouted in a loud, slurred voice._

"Que …Que nous?" _A voice asked from within the haze._ "… c ..,cest que nous célébrons?

 _Matthew crooked and saw another English soldier whose French was atrocious. He understood anyway._

 _Matthew caught the other soldier's attention_ , "Here dead we lie,  
Because we did not choose To live and shame the land From which we sprung _."_

 _At the other man's confused mien, Matthew smirked coldly. "A.E. Houseman. We're celebrating death."_

 _The soldier eyed the waiter bringing the bottles of champagne and said. "I'm in" in English._

 _So he and his companion, who's name Matthew never bothered to learn, drank the entire two bottles. They then stumbled outside. Matthew threw some water on his face from an open fountain and they proceeded to the next café._

 _On into the night it went. At some point the other soldier left to enjoy some fleeting moments of passion with a red head who had propositioned him on the corner. Matthew went on alone._

 _Until he slumped against a wall, unable to feel anything._

 _A blissful moment of silence in his head followed. No more guns. No more blasts of artillery fire._

 _And he fell into a stupor. Waking to the sounds of humanity moving on without him. Moving around him. Stumbling over him and cursing in French about his uselessness. His mouth felt foul._

 _He wasn't sure he ever wanted to care enough to take another step…._

…..

Arms glided around his shoulders. Sinuous, slim, and embracing. They slowly slipped down his chest, fingernails tickling and tingling as they made claw streaks down his white shirt. Matthew sat in the hardback chair in the room he shared with Mary. He was waiting for her finish packing so they could board the train to London. She was seeing Dr. Ryder again for a check-up. She had horrible nausea in the first few months of pregnancy so Dr. Clarkson agreed that Mary keep up her appointments with the Harley Street doctor to ensure no complications.

By now, four and half-months along, Mary was feeling much better. This was to be their last London appointment.

"What is that?" Her sultry voice. The one she kept for the bedroom. Just for him. Her breath was hot on his neck.

The sun was shining through the window. He heard the birds chirping.

Birds were chirping, Matthew thought. What a miracle. He was alive and birds made music in the trees outside the home he was to inherit. Being embraced by the woman who was with child. His child. Their child.

Birds were chirping, and life was good.

Matthew's lips slipped against his wife's cheek. A long, deep kiss. Then an answer, "A telegram." He cleared his throat. He guided her from around the back of the chair and into his lap. His hands wrapped around her growing middle. She had put his hand on her belly last night to feel the baby kick.

Another miracle.

"Private Sloane died. Colonel Russell sent it. He always does when one dies…." His words faded.

Mary's embrace deepened. Her head on his shoulder. "One … ?" She reached out to take his hands. They were cold. "Who?"

He crumpled the paper into a ball with his fist. "Arthur Sloane…" His words a whisper of pain. "The last of the men I saved in the pit."

His arms tightened around her. Around their child. Around life.

He breathed in her scent. Lilacs and sweet orange. "Mary…. Mary" his voice so tender. So fragile. "Do you know how happy I am? How happy you've made me?"

Mary was concerned. "What is happening darling?"

He shifted so that they could see each other's faces. "The week before I met you…in Paris," he smiled and she smiled at that memory. They would always smile when they remembered how he had touched her hand across the table at the café below his rooms. She had followed him up the stairs. They made mad, intense love. Physical and carnal in nature, neither knew the other and yet they knew each other intimately.

"…the week before I received the second of these telegrams. The first had come while I was in hospital. That was bad as I had just been awarded the VC for saving them all and it seemed such a waste. The second Colonel Russell sent when Okes and Webber copped it. It made it all worse, being after the war." He scoffed gently, "as if that makes sense. You're supposed to be safe when the guns stop. But death will have its way."

He clasped Mary's hand harder. "I took it all rather badly. On top of barely eking out a living and the work for the Peace Conference being so useless as no one listened to reason. They gave into hate. I gave into oblivion. I spent the night in a drunken stupor, I don't even know where I went. I woke up, drunk as you like near a train station. I thought ever so briefly of Anna Karenina."

Mary gasped in deep fear.

Matthew reassured her, "it was only a fleeting moment, my darling. Turns out I was too much the coward to kill myself."

"Or you had reason to believe you wanted to live." Mary declaimed emphatically. "So many reasons to live." She gripped his hand hard.

"Yes." Matthew said after a long pause, idly rubbing Mary's stomach as a slow smile crossed his beautiful face. "…so many reasons."

XX

The house at Eaton Square was still unfinished. Mary was very particular as to the details before they took up residence. The second floor ball room had been blasted by a bomb during the war and needed extensive renovation. The bedroom along the corridor needed to be redecorated and repurposed as a day nursery. Their bedroom needed new wallpaper and new furniture. It was the other reason for the visit to London. To inspect the new house.

Matthew tutted about her wearing herself out, Mary said she never felt better.

Until they could move in, and when Mary resided in York, Matthew kept his small flat. She refused after one uncomfortable overnight visit, to stay again so the two of them were to live at Grantham House for Mary's visit to Dr. Ryder and their current fortnight stay in London.

Matthew kept his own counsel as to the worthiness of keeping such a large London property the family seldom used anymore. He suspected it would be sold off in the very near future.

Since it was early December and the rest of staff remained at Downton, Grantham House operated during the day with some temporary held hired by a reliable agency and supervised by Anna who also functioned as Lady Mary's maid.

Matthew reluctantly agreed to bring Molesley as well. The two of them were still getting used to the other. Matthew had never had a manservant before. He still didn't see the point. He could dress himself, shave himself, and tie his own shoes. Mary reminded him of all the other chores that needed to be done. Especially now that Matthew was expected to maintain a certain appearance as a diplomat and part of Sir Eyre Crowe's elite circle of advisers. They all had a place, Mary said.

Matthew nodded. He had heard much the same from Robert. "I know…I know." And Molesley was turning out to be rather indispensable in advising Matthew on the best attire to wear to what function.

Arriving on the afternoon train Mary retired to their bedroom upstairs to rest. Matthew went to Whitehall to check his appointments. The December day was chilly, but no snow yet.

On the way back to Grantham House, he spotted a familiar face in a tea shop window.

She was tapping on the glass, trying to get his attention as he strolled by.

"Matthew…" the muffled sound reached his ear. She rapped several times.

He turned and doffed his hat. "Hello" he mouthed to Rose as he stopped on the pavement.

She motioned for him to come inside. He pursed his lips in consternation. After what Mary had said about Rosamund's gossiping, he worried to be seen in public again with Rose.

But she looked so happy, so he risked it. He liked her being happy.

"Matthew do sit down and have some of these yummy buns with me." Rose said, without a trace of shame. "I am in desperate need of company. Mummy has allowed me only an hour of freedom before she returns from the dressmakers. We've been out all day…and I'm exhausted!"

Matthew took off his hat and placed it on the empty chair. Before he could take a seat, she reached out her cheek for him to kiss. He obliged.

"Rose you really are outrageous." He said, sitting down. "You'll get me into trouble." He glanced from side to side to see if anyone was watching them.

"Nonsense." Rose said, with a sly smirk. "You're my shining knight. You can do no wrong."

He rolled his eyes and said, "What have you been doing with yourself? No more late night parties I trust?"

She scoffed. "As if…" And she handed him a plate of tea biscuits and cake. "Mummy won't let me out of my sight after my last trip to London."

"Good." Matthew scooped up one of the cakes and popped it in his mouth.

"I had to claim sheer starvation in order to get this hour away." Rose put the plate away. "Mind you, I have my eye on someone." She took a sip of her tea, and eyed him brazenly. "Of course he's married."

Matthew looked horror-struck. Mary was right after all….

"You've gone quite white as a sheet. Don't look so peaked Matthew, it's not you." Rose grinned. "Terence used to work for Daddy so he's more of a family friend. His wife is absolutely horrid."

Matthew looked enormously relieved, but felt obliged to say "married men who wish to seduce young women always have horrid wives. I don't have a horrid wife. I have an absolutely wonderful one. Whom I adore quite madly."

"I know you're hopeless." Rose responded cheekily. Then, "seriously Matthew. You're one of the lucky ones. I think you know that." Her tone was without sarcasm.

Matthew nodded in utter contentment with his life. "I know I am."

"The rest of us have to make do with those left. All the good ones are taken." And she patted his hand.

"Rose you told me you'd be careful. Please don't act on this impulse." Matthew furrowed his brow in concern.

"There are so many dead, Matthew. There are three or four girls to every decent minded man. I want to marry." She flicked a hair away, "I'll be an old maid soon enough."

Matthew snorted. "Now who's talking nonsense. Look here why don't you and your mother come to tea tomorrow afternoon with us? We're staying at Grantham House and I know Mary would like to see you."

"Simply deevy!" Rose exclaimed. "I can ask her all about current fashions. Mummy is hopeless…"

And she went to chatter on about the new trend of narrow skirts and hats without feathers…

Matthew stopped listening and just let her happiness wash over him. And an idea was growing in the back of his head. He had a young colleague at the Foreign Office, one who was single and quite intelligent. And someone who would be perfect for Rose.

Should the two happen to meet…

XX

Kendall let the young man inside Grantham House.

"I'm here to see Mr. Matthew Crawley." The tall brown haired man said.

"This way." Kendall led him into a side door. Matthew had taken up the library as his temporary office. He was poring over a recent German newspaper when Kendall opened the door and announced, "A Mr. Atticus Aldridge to see you."

"Thank you Kendall." Matthew got up and gestured a welcome. "Come in Atticus. You're almost in time for tea. You must stay."

The younger man walked through the door. Kendall closed it behind him.

"If I'm not intruding on yourself or Lady Mary, I'd be delighted."

"We have just enough time to go over your schedule for Paris. Do you think you're up to this alone?" Matthew sat back down at his desk.

"It was your idea." Atticus reminded his boss. "Are you having second thoughts?" He didn't want to disappoint on his first experience abroad.

"None at all." Matthew reassured him. "At least not about you. I know you're up for the challenge. I just wanted to make sure."

"I'm to meet my equal at the Quai d'Orsay where I'll be introduced to Monsieur Pichon. I will take up the issue of the latest round of reparations talks and brief them on our position on the schedule of payments." Aldridge smoothly went through his itinerary.

Matthew nodded. "A delicate task that I'm sure you will handle marvelously."

A knock on the door made Matthew turn his head. Mary stepped in briefly. "We're having tea in the drawing room if you two care to join us."

Mary and Matthew exchanged a private glance. Matthew gave her a quick wink. All was going according to plan.

Lady Flintshire was exchanging pleasantries with Rosamund when the three of them walked into the room. "Shrimpie will insist on the pipes for every meal. I find the droning quite distasteful." Shrimpie made a grunt of disapproval, but said nothing. He was exchanging pleasantries with Cora who was to accompany Mary to her doctor's appointment. Matthew had said he'd go, but Cora insisted that she wanted to be kept fully informed of Mary's progress. He'd only be in the way. Matthew rolled his eyes, but consented to being kept out for the time being. He'd go to his office and meet up with them later.

That appointment was set for tomorrow. Cora and Mary had just returned from the new house in time for tea with Rosamund and the visitors from Scotland.

They all turned to see the new young man. "This is one of Matthew's protégé's at the Foreign Office," Mary introduced, "Mr. Atticus Aldridge."

Matthew nudged him to take the seat next to Rose. "Why don't you sit here? This is the Dowager Countess's niece Rose MacClare."

After Atticus took the seat, Matthew edged away to stand next to his wife. Rose almost immediately began to try to make Atticus at home by engaging him in a conversation about his travels abroad.

"See, my love." Matthew whispered. "I told you he'd be perfect."

"We'll see." Mary responded lightly. "Rose may think so. Her parents might think very differently." And they exchanged a knowing look. "Old habits and prejudices are hard to break."

"Such things are of our parent's generation. I'll have none of it. Neither will you nor Rose I suspect. We'll prevail, just you wait." Matthew spoke with determination.

And on cue, Rose shrieked delighted to know that Atticus was on his way to the continent. And Atticus looked enchanted by her enthusiasm.

XX

"You are in perfect health, Lady Mary. The baby's heartbeat is strong. You might want to take it easier in these last months of the pregnancy. Just to be sure." Dr. Ryder's suggestion seemed to fall on deaf ears with Mary.

But Cora affirmed she understood. "I keep telling her not to walk around that house with all the dust and debris about."

"I need to make sure my instructions are being carried out." Mary insisted. "With Matthew always so busy at the Foreign Office, the task falls to me. Papa always says better to do the job right the first time."

"Matthew hired a builder supervisor," Cora reminded her headstrong daughter. "Let the man do his job."

Mary sniffed in annoyance. "I rest every afternoon upon Matthew's insistence. I think that is more than enough. Am I right Dr. Ryder? A certain amount of activity is also good for baby's health. And his mother's disposition." And she gave a wry grin.

Dr. Ryder replied, "Within reason Lady Mary. A walk around the Serpentine would suffice, however. I'm not too sure about walking up and down the stairs in a house still under construction. There are a lot of dangers present."

"See." Cora handed her daughter a set of gloves as they made ready to depart the doctor's office. "Thank you for your time."

"I look forward to a birth announcement in the coming months." Dr. Ryder opened the door for the ladies' exit. "All will be well I assure you."

Mary smiled in gratitude. Some good news to tell Matthew. And she had another task that day as well. One she would have to confide to her mother as she was sure Cora would not let Mary go anywhere unattended.

When they arrived on the pavement outside the doctor's office Mary turned to her mother. "I need to go to the War Office. It's on the Horse Guards Avenue near Whitehall."

"What do you need there? Are we meeting Matthew?" Cora put a gloved hand to her eyes to block the sun.

"No. He's to meet us back at Grantham House. There's something I want to do for him, though. Without his being informed." Mary warned, "so please don't say anything. Will you?"

"Nothing untoward is it?" Cora asked.

"None of the sort. Quite the opposite actually. It's just that if it's bad news, I don't want to contribute to any more feelings of melancholy on Matthew's part." Mary waited until a clerk from the doctor's office hailed a taxi for them.

They got inside and gave the directions. Cora took her seat. "I had many reservations about Matthew when he first made his appearance looking so angry and disheveled at Downton that day. And then after your confession…" Cora paused.

Mary understood. She and Matthew had torn down the traces of decent behaviour according to society's rules when they engaged in a _passion d'amour_ within an hour of knowing each other. "And now?"

Cora settled back in the taxi. "Now I cannot imagine our life without him. He's so good with Tom for one thing. Neither were quite the sons-in-law your father expected, but each has turned out to have qualities of honour and goodness that were quite unforeseen."

That confession made Mary inordinately glad. So had so wanted her parents to come to love Matthew as she did. The baby kicked just then, making her even more joyful. Indeed, Mary never believed she could ever have been this happy.

But she was. And she wanted Matthew to be so as well. This task she gave herself today. This tasks she hoped would make him just that. To call away the demons of war that haunted him, and to bring him full and forever into this life of their making.

XX

Christmas was a quiet affair. Edith had stayed in London, for reasons that went unexplained. The rest of the family gathered, exchanged gifts, and gave the morning off to the servants. The shoot would be over New Years and the house would be full of guests, but for right now it was quiet. Just family.

The christening had taken place the month before. Kiernan standing in for Tom's family. He then left to return to Ireland after disrupting dinner conversation more than once with his Irish Home Rule monologue and insistence that Tom had put on too many airs for his comfort.

Tom confided to Matthew over billiards when Kiernan had been put on the train that while he loved his family dearly in theory, having them present and lording it over him was more than he could deal with.

Matthew lined up his next shot and replied, "I hear you. It's times like this I like being an only child."

Tom smiled. "We're both rich in family. Now that Mary's having a child, Sybil cannot wait for the little cousin to be born. It makes her want to stay here more than ever."

"Instead of what?" Matthew asked.

"Emigrating to America. Or Australia…somewhere fresh. But instead I think we'll be following you to London after all. It's what Sybil wants. And I can find a job at a London paper. Now that Kiernan's gone and Sybil's more settled with the baby, it's time to get us settled." Tom shot his ball across the table.

"You think you'll have much luck?" Matthew knew the anti-Irish sentiment would work against Tom.

"The _Daily Chronicle_ is interested in a couple of articles I wrote." Tom responded. "I'll give it a fair shot. It might take me a couple of career moves to settle on something permanently. But London is a large metropolis. I'm sure I'll find something. And Sybil will want to be close to Mary."

"I'll look forward to that immensely." Matthew said. "Mary's intent on moving into our Eaton Square house in the new year, so that we'll be settled by the time of the baby's birth."

"Are you content with the Foreign Office?" Tom leaned on his cuestick. "As a career?"

Matthew paused a long time before answering. "For the time being I am. But not as a career diplomat. It's too frustrating, not being involved in policy making."

"What are you thinking then?" Tom was intrigued. "A run for office? Parliament?"

Matthew pursed his lips in thought. "Perhaps. I'm still pondering my options. It was not that long ago I believed I had no future at all. So this must be taken one step at a time. I'm still young. There's plenty of time."

"What does Mary think?" Tom asked the question Matthew did not know the answer to quite yet. "Would she want to be the wife of a politician?"

Matthew shrugged. "I've not broached the subject. Not until I'm clear in my mind about it."

"Would you run as a Conservative? Or Labour? Robert's in the Lords of course, but the family is Conservative." Tom observed.

Matthew nodded. "That is the problem. I'm not sure I could do that. Robert won't like it if I don't run for a Conservative seat. Preferably a safe one with local connections."

Tom pocketed his ball. "Better you than me this time."

And they both laughed.

On Christmas afternoon Mary rested upstairs. Sybil and Tom had taken advantage of the clear weather to take little Sybbie for a walk in the pram outside. Mathew was restless and made his excuses to Robert and Cora. He left the library to visit his wife.

They had been so used to full sex life. So open in their passion, Matthew had gotten used to it. Taking her cue whenever their eyes exchanged the look they both knew meant only one thing. But lately, with the baby, Matthew had become more cautious. Even knowing Mary's opinion that his fears were unwarranted, Matthew had learned to love just being with Mary alone in their shared bed, touching and embracing without any other expectation or desire. He often found himself drawn up stairs when she napped, just to be in her calming presence.

He did so now.

Mary expected him. She often stayed awake until he found his way to her. They nestled together in the bed, warm and content. She smiled when she heard his footfalls in the hallway and his closing of the door, she turned to see him.

"Hello." He said, his voice soft.

"I'm glad you're here." Mary reached for his arm to help her sit up in the bed. "I've got something for you."

"In addition to the watch and the new ties." Matthew referenced Mary's Christmas presents.

"Yes." She said quietly. She reached over to her side table and found the letter. She handed it to him.

"I hope you don't mind, but when we were last in London I found the address of Private Sloane's family. I wrote to them. Here's their response." Mary said as she noticed his hand started to shake.

"But I already sent a condolence letter." Matthew was confused.

"This was different. I asked his wife to send something specific for you." She reached out to take his hand. "Read it."

Matthew pulled out the letter, a picture fell to his lap. He looked at it. It was a picture of Sloane, his wife, and a young child of about three.

Matthew bit his lip as he read the brief letter from Valerie Sloane saying that her husband died peacefully at home in his sleep. His family close. His little boy, Timothy was the joy of her and husband's life. That without Matthew and his heroic actions that day at Fromelles, she would never have had her husband come home. Would never have given birth to their child. Would never have had three wonderful years of love with their family. And now that Arthur had succumbed to the flu, his son would grow up fine and strong and with the knowledge his father loved him.

The tears flowed down Matthew's cheek. He grimaced as he tried to control it.

He turned to Mary in the bed. "You… you wrote to her?" His face pale.

"I did." Mary wiped the tears away from her husband's face. "You said you thought it was all hopeless. That as they were all dead, what you did was useless, without purpose. Well it wasn't. It meant that they had more time together. Time to love. Time to have a family. It's not nothing, my darling, as you once told me. That's the very opposite of nothing."

Matthew embraced his wife, his body wracked with a trembling he didn't seem able to control. She gathered him in her arms.

"Thank you," he said, "I think every day I cannot love you anymore. And then the next day I do."

"Me too, darling," Mary said, placing his hand on her stomach to once again feel the life of their unborn child, "Me too."

XX  
 _I hope you liked this chapter. I love this story and this Matthew and Mary in particular. A few more chapters in this story … I hope you will read and review and comment to my heart's delight! Note: Carom billiards have no pockets. English billiards have pockets._


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